It Begins Like This
by iambeagle
Summary: A story about long-distance love. It begins with 'Then' and ends with 'Now'.
1. Airport

**Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. Duh.**

The Twilight Twenty-Five

Prompt: #1 Airport  
>Pen Name: iambeagle<br>Pairing/Main Character(s): Edward/Bella

Rating: T

(Multi-chapter story up in here.)

* * *

><p><strong>Then<strong>

"You're in my seat."

I looked up to see a man with overly disheveled bronze hair staring expectantly at me. I blinked, not bothering to refute what he'd said. My lack of reaction caused him to glance at his plane ticket to double check the seat number.

"Am I?" I played dumb. "That's okay. You can have my seat." I pointed next to me, smiling widely as I presented him the window seat that was covered in breadcrumbs. I swiped them to the floor, making it more appealing.

"I don't want the window seat," he said, shoving his carry-on into the overhead bin.

I waved him off. "Consider it your lucky day. Everyone wants the window seat."

"Apparently not." He gave me a pointed stare, waiting for me to move.

"Yeah, the thing is..." I trailed off, smiling awkwardly. Why was he making this so difficult?

"Hey, lady!" A man with a balding head yelled impatiently. "If you wanted an aisle seat, you should've chosen your seat when you booked the flight. Move it."

I narrowed my eyes at the man who thought it appropriate to yell at me in public, and would've come back with something sharp if I hadn't been interrupted.

"Hey. It's fine, it's fine," the bronze haired stranger said to him, struggling to step past me to sit in the window seat.

"Thanks," I mumbled once he was settled and buckled in.

"Well," he leaned closer, "people were waiting to get to their _assigned_ seats. I didn't want to cause a scene."

I merely ignored his comment by pulling out my book, indicating I was done speaking. Clearly he couldn't take a hint.

"That rude bald guy was right, though. You should've just chosen your seat when you booked the flight. It'd be less of a hassle."

"Okay." I huffed and closed my book. "But everyone always gives me their aisle seat. Why would I bother going through the trouble?"

"Ah, I see." He licked his lips and thought for a moment, bringing a hand up to push his hair away from his forehead, causing it to stick up straight. "So, you're used to getting your way all the time?"

I frowned at his words, his accusation. "No. I suppose people are just very friendly."

"Right, and it doesn't hurt that you're young and cute and got this whole innocent thing going for ya."

"I'm going to read now," I muttered, holding up my book in case he had somehow not seen it in my hands.

His fingers tapped against his thighs before he pulled out a copy of SkyMall. "Enjoy."

Twenty minutes after take-off, the stranger had finished his invigorating read, securely placing the magazine in the pocket of the seat in front of him.

"I'm Edward, by the way. Just in case you wanted a name for the person whose seat you stole."

"I'm Bella," was all I said.

"You sure you don't want the window seat, Bella? The view is great."

"That's... that's why I don't want the window seat," I said quietly.

"Ah. Does looking out the window make your stomach turn or something? You get all clammy and nauseated?" I swallowed, unable to answer. "You know, they have this handy little shade you can pull down over the window." He shut it. Opened it. Shut it. Opened it. "See?"

"Okay, but..." I bit the inside of my cheek. "When the shade is closed, I feel claustrophobic," I admitted. "And when it's open, I just..." I shuddered.

"Oh. Crap. Sorry." He eyed the window, hesitantly bringing his hand back up to close the shade.

"If I'm in an aisle seat, the shade can stay open. It's fine. I'm just weird. Ignore me."

"Are you always like this when you fly?" he asked, popping a piece of gum into his mouth and offering me a piece, which I declined.

"Am I always like what?" He stared at me and chewed his gum, not bothering to answer. "I'm not a nervous flyer," I said adamantly, clasping both hands in my lap.

"Never said you were." He laughed, shaking his head. "I pegged you more for a scared shitless flyer."

I opened my mouth to speak, then promptly snapped it shut. He watched in amusement as I struggled to hold back from speaking.

"Fine. You know what? Fine." I crossed my arms. "Sorry I'm scared that the plane is going to crash and I'm not going to know how to turn the bottom of my seat into a flotation device," I rambled, slightly hysterical. "And all of that business about securing the oxygen mask on yourself first before helping others? Um, yeah. I don't need to be reminded. I'd definitely supply myself with oxygen before helping anyone else."

"Even me?" he scoffed. "I gave up my seat for you. The least you could do is help me secure the oxygen mask on my face," he said animatedly. I had a feeling he was teasing me. "It's easy, by the way."

"What's easy?" I asked, eying him curiously, taking a much needed deep breath.

"Turning your seat into a flotation device," he explained, lifting his leg to rest across his thigh.

"Oh."

"I do extremely well under pressure. In fact, you seem nice enough. I'd probably help you turn your seat into a flotation device," he added, looking pleased with himself. "As long as you help me with my oxygen mask. This is a two-way street, Bella."

"Is it?" I asked, focusing on the squareness of his jaw.

"Yes. Being seat partners is serious business."

"Thanks for making me aware," I replied dumbly, trying to pull my gaze from his so I could return to reading my book.

"No problem. I'll even share my nuts with you, if you want." His lips twitched and I choked out a strangled laugh. "Ah. She laughs."

"Only when something is inappropriately funny."

He nodded in agreement. "I don't know why you're flying to New York or what you have planned, but I think it's safe to say you owe me dinner, or at the very least, drinks."

"I don't suppose you'll tell me why I owe you dinner," I hedged slowly.

"Because I gave up my seat for you, that's why."

"But I'm already repaying you with the promise to help with your oxygen mask."

"That's true." He hummed, watching me curiously. "Then I'll buy _you_ dinner," he offered.

"Okay," I agreed after a moment. "Sure."

He smiled widely, leaning his seat back. "Okay."

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><p><strong>Ready for the most confusing explanation ever? Okay:<strong>

**So, this is a multi-chapter fic. The odd chapters take place THEN; even numbers take place NOW. Maybe that wasn't as confusing as I thought it'd be. If you have any questions... Google it.**

**Just kidding. I'm here. Somewhere. If you need me.**

**Julie pre-read. Thanks for reading.**


	2. Cafe

**Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. Duh.**

The Twilight Twenty-Five

Prompt: #5 Cafe  
>Pen Name: iambeagle<br>Pairing/Main Character(s): Bella

Rating: T

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><p><strong>Now<strong>

I sit tentatively in the booth at the cafe, knowing the vinyl sticking to the back of my thighs is the only thing keeping me here.

_I'm trying._

Every word he speaks is borderline narcissistic. Every responding laugh of mine is forced.

It is all so unimportant; it is all so futile.

His smile isn't as wide or as genuine. His gaze isn't as soft and his eyes don't hold that certain amusement. His hand, when placed in mine, is clammy and too warm and feels _wrong_.

_But I'm trying_.

It's not working.

He's not _him_.


	3. Seattle

**Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. Duh.**

The Twilight Twenty-Five

Prompt: #23 Seattle  
>Pen Name: iambeagle<br>Pairing/Main Character(s): Bella/Edward

* * *

><p><strong>Then<strong>

Two hours into the flight—after accepting a stranger's offer to buy me dinner, and consuming two miniature bottles of vodka—I fell asleep.

Sometime after _that_, I was being violently woken up by turbulence, of course.

_Turbulence_.

It just wasn't normal.

"I'm surprised the oxygen masks haven't fallen down yet," Edward mused, once he noticed I was awake and alert and on the verge of a panic attack.

"This isn't normal," I managed to hiss out, not bothering to keep the calm in my voice, while tightening my grip on the arm rest. "It's not normal, is it?"

I glanced around the cabin, expecting panic and utter chaos, as the flight attendant uttered her rehearsed line, informing us that the pilot had switched on the fasten seat belt sign.

"I'm joking, by the way. This is standard," he commented, and I turned towards his voice, eyes wide. "It's fine. Trust me."

My stomach disappeared as the plane dropped for a third time before correcting itself.

"I don't know," I breathed out, biting the inside of my cheek to keep myself from telling him that it _wasn't_ fine and I _didn't_ trust him.

"What time is it?" I asked instead, a safe subject.

He glanced at his watch, then back up at me with a sympathetic smile. "We still have over two hours until we land. You only slept for an hour."

"Oh."

"Snored for like, forty-five minutes, too."

I wasn't sure if he was joking or not—and I was certain if I opened my mouth again that I'd release a strangled cry which would rival the infant a few rows back—so I said nothing. Not until the turbulence had ended and I was able to breathe, even if it were erratic.

"I should've taken Ambien," I whined, closing my eyes and bouncing both legs. "Tons of people drug themselves before flying. Why didn't I just accept the damn pills?"

"And who exactly was offering you these pills?" He questioned, lowering his voice. "Sounds shady, if you ask me."

"I'm _not_ asking you," I replied, half scoffing as I opened my eyes, surprised to see he had leaned closer. "And it's most certainly not shady. A friend has a prescription."

"Whatever you say." He shook his head, smiling slightly before licking his bottom lip. "Don't involve me in your shady business of drug-pushing pals."

"What are you talking about?" I asked, receiving a laugh from him that momentarily took away some of my uneasiness.

"I don't know," he admitted, pulling a face. "I'm trying to distract you from being nervous, but it's backfiring. Am I freaking you out?"

His words—for some reason—caught me off guard. In a way, what he was doing seemed sweet and, honestly, unexpected. But yes, he was freaking me out.

"You're trying to distract me from being nervous?" I asked, because I didn't know what else to say. "That's... kind of nice. Thanks."

"Just trying to hold up my end of being a great seat partner, is all. Don't read too much into it."

"Oh." I frowned, swiping my bangs from my forehead and pushing my hair over my shoulder. "I wasn't. I really wasn't."

"Okay, good. I don't hit on strangers, especially not ones who steal my seat."

"What—" I began, trying to work out what he meant. "But you asked me out to dinner."

"And you said yes."

"So, what? You only asked out me to dinner because you were trying to distract me?"

"No," he admitted. "I just wanted to ask you out."

"How is that not considered hitting on me?" I was confused and extremely annoyed.

His next statement was full of glaring accusations, accompanied with playfully narrowed eyes. "You're already reading too much into a dinner that has yet to take place."

He smiled almost teasingly, which caused me to become flustered, which forced me to pick up my book—which happened to be upside down—which I didn't notice until it was too late and he was pointing it out to me, the helpful seat partner that he was.

A few minutes of embarrassed silence passed, until he asked, "You live in New York?"

Clearing my throat, I answered with a quiet, "No."

"I didn't think so."

My eyes drifted from the same sentence I'd read at least ten times, and I stared at the seat in front of me, not wanting to look over at him just yet.

"Then why did you ask?"

He ignored my question with, "So, you're visiting?"

"Well, yes. I did just say I'm not a resident," I informed him, turning in my seat, locking my eyes with his. "I live in Seattle. Do _you_ live in New York?"

"Yep," he said, not adding any other information, nor asking any additional questions.

"Oh. Why were you in Seattle?" My question was more out of politeness than interest. At least, that's what I tried convincing myself.

"I wasn't. I was in Forks, visiting family," he told me, holding my gaze. "Have you heard of it?"

Before I was able to answer, the plane became bumpy, slightly jerky. I braced myself for the—as Edward put it—'standard, it's fine, trust me' turbulence, when it suddenly felt like we were plummeting. We were totally fucking plummeting. A few people began screaming, but then the plane leveled out and the pilot's voice came over the intercom, rambling about clear-air turbulence.

And then the plane lurched again, and my stomach disappeared, except this time it didn't come back; this time Edward grabbed my hand.

"Oh, God. Oh, God. We're going to die," I blurted out.

I kept chanting the words over and over again, unable to think of anything else as the screams around the cabin began to fill my ears until it was all I could hear.

Drinks were being spilled and bags were falling out of the overhead bin. One of the flight attendants tripped in the aisle as she scrambled to her seat to buckle herself in.

"I stole your seat. I'm sorry. Oh, God. I stole your seat and now I have to pay for it. I have to die," I cried, not caring if I wasn't making sense as I clutched his hand tighter.

"Just keep calm," he instructed loudly, over the screams, the crying infant, and the lady sitting behind us reciting her Hail Marys.

"I illegally download music. This must be karma. This has to be karma!"

"The pilot said it was just turbulence," Edward said directly in my ear, and the passengers eventually quieted down as the plane began to correct itself.

I waited a full five minutes before releasing my grip on his hand, even after the pilot assured us everything was fine; even after the flight attendants were moving about the cabin with a smile on their faces as they cleaned up the spilled drinks and loose luggage.

"You can let go," he said, prying my fingers from his hand. "It's okay."

"Okay. Yeah," I muttered, not sure I wanted to let go, because I was still dazed and the warmth of his hand helped calm me down.

"I can't believe you illegally download music." He laughed, shaking out his hand to—I assume—regain circulation. "I might need to reconsider this dinner date."

I ignored him for the rest of the flight.

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><p><strong>Thanks to Kim and Julie for being nice, and thank <em>you<em> for reading.**


	4. Beach

**Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. Duh.**

The Twilight Twenty-Five

Prompt: #9 Beach  
>Pen Name: iambeagle<br>Pairing/Main Character(s): Bella/Edward

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><p><strong>Now<strong>

I knew it would be tough.

That day at the beach—after Thanksgiving dinner, when we needed space from his overbearing family—he said he didn't care about the distance, because he loved me.

It was absurd, but he was in love with me, despite the fact that we had only been together for two months.

That's why I was so caught off guard—so utterly blindsided—when he was the one who ended it.

"_The distance is too hard_," he mumbled over the phone.

But not talking to him everyday, not being with him—not knowing what he is doing, who he is with, or if he's happy—is harder.

* * *

><p><strong>Getting the hang of it? Okay, cool. Thanks for reading.<strong>

**Thanks for helping, Srupy!**


	5. Italian Restaurant

**Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. Duh.**

The Twilight Twenty-Five

Prompt #16 Italian restaurant  
>Pen Name: iambeagle<br>Pairing/Main Character(s) Edward/Bella

* * *

><p><strong>Then<strong>

After my heartbeat returned to its regular thumping rhythm, the remainder of the flight was spent falling in an out of an uncomfortable sleep—one that can only be achieved by sleeping upright.

It wasn't until we were landing that a hard jolt of speed woke me completely. I lifted my head, slightly embarrassed when I realized I had leaned on Edward's shoulder at some point. The embarrassment didn't last long, because I also realized he was still sleeping, body angled slightly towards me, arms crossed over his stomach.

With his eyes still closed, I stared at his face for longer than necessary—mostly because I could. I was momentarily mesmerized by his long, dark lashes, which brushed against his cheeks. My focus drifted lower, and I gazed at the light stubble covering his chin and sharp jaw.

The flight attendant spoke over the intercom and Edward's eyes blinked open, forcing me to quickly look away before I was caught staring at him.

"We made it?" he asked, stifling his yawn, stretching his arms out in front of him.

"Surprisingly," I muttered, sitting up straighter, smoothing my hair down with one hand.

Minutes passed as the passengers gathered their belongings and exited the plane, relief spilling over me as I stepped onto the solid ground of the terminal.

"You never told me how long you're in town for," Edward mentioned, walking beside me as we made our way towards baggage claim.

I refrained from pointing out that he never asked, answering with, "A week. My cousin is getting married on Saturday."

For whatever reason, he whistled. "That's exciting."

"I guess so."

"Are you in the wedding?"

"No. She's not having bridesmaids this time," I told him, jerking my head in his direction when he began laughing. "What's so funny?" I asked, pulling my gaze from his smiling face and trying to focus on not running into people.

"_This time_, huh? How many times has she been married?" he questioned, shoulder brushing against mine as he moved closer to avoid getting run over by a speed walker.

"This will be her third marriage," I replied hesitantly, not chancing a look to catch his expression.

"Wow," he muttered next to me.

"Yeah. I know," I agreed. "But what can you do?"

"I don't know. Try to make it work the first time around? Don't marry someone unless you're sure they're the one?" he suggested. "There are plenty of things one can do to save a marriage."

"_The one_?" I snorted, shaking my head. "You seem to think you know a lot about marriage. Are you speaking from personal experience?" I asked, glancing at his left hand, already knowing I wouldn't find a ring.

He pointed in the direction of where we needed to go and said, "Sure. My parents. Their parents. Aro, my dry cleaner."

"Well, that makes sense. Dry cleaners are usually into monogamy," I teased. "Or maybe they just got lucky," I offered, giving him a sideways glance as I thought of my own parents and their nasty divorce two years ago.

"Maybe," he agreed, smiling lightly.

We fell into a comfortable silence, walking side by side through the airport, until we were standing in a large crowd, waiting for our luggage to pass by.

"Do you see your bag?" he asked after a few minutes, and I strained my neck to survey the conveyer belt, pointing out a black Samsonite suitcase.

He nodded then, and pushed through the wall of people to grab my luggage. I moved away from the crowd and waited for him by the sliding doors.

"You didn't have to do that..." I trailed off as he rolled my suitcase over to me. "Thanks."

He shrugged. "You're welcome."

"Don't you need to grab yours?" I questioned when he made no move to head back in the direction of the passengers who were impatiently waiting for their luggage.

"I didn't check anything," he said simply.

"Oh," I mumbled, not used to this type of treatment from a stranger. Especially not a stranger whom I hadn't been overly friendly towards.

I reached out my hand, waiting for him to roll my suitcase into my possession, when he shook his head in refusal, keeping his grip tight on the handle.

"You aren't going to try to steal my luggage, are you?" I questioned, because I had to.

"Are you serious?" he asked, shocked expression morphing into a grin. "You're serious."

"Well?" I tapped my foot. "This_ is_ New York. And you're being overly friendly right now... and you're extremely attractive. What else am I supposed to think?"

"You think I'm attractive? What does that have to do with me stealing a suitcase?"

"I don't know. You use your good looks to blind people and then... and then you steal their suitcase," I mumbled, feeling my cheeks burn as he laughed harder.

"I can assure you I'm not going to steal your suitcase, Bella. Where are you staying?" he asked, and I followed behind him as we exited the airport.

I frowned. "Do you really expect me to tell you that?"

He laughed, quirking an eyebrow. "That's right. You don't trust me."

"Am I supposed to? I don't know you," I pointed out.

"If I were going to harm you in any way, I promise you I would've done it already. I'm too impatient."

"Surprisingly, that doesn't make me feel better. At all."

"Look, I'm only asking where you'll be staying because I was going to see if you wanted to share a cab."

"Oh."

"No bad intentions, I swear." He smiled widely, leaving my suitcase by my side as he edged towards the curb to stand in a short, swiftly moving line. "You can say no. I just figured it made more sense to share the cost of the cab than to pay separately."

A moment later, I narrowed my eyes as a cab pulled up next to him. "Where do you live?" I asked, knowing I would have zero clue if it were near Kate's place.

"Lower east side," he replied. "Where does your cousin live?"

Pulling out my phone, I rattled off the address Kate had text me this earlier morning.

"I think that's in Murray Hill," he uttered, pounding on the back of the cab so the driver would pop the trunk. "It's up to you. I can take my own cab."

"No. It's fine. We can share," I mumbled, watching as he lifted my suitcase and placed it securely into the trunk.

"I can't believe you thought I was going to steal your luggage," he laughed, shaking his head while opening the door, ushering me into the cab. He slid in behind me and I scooted closer to the opposite door when his thigh pressed up against mine.

"Two stops," Edward told the driver, then asked for me to type my cousin's address into Google maps on my phone, before handing it over to him. "First stop is East thirty-eighth and Park. Second is Chrystie and Grand."

I stared out the window, already annoyed at the slow moving traffic. The driver didn't acknowledge Edward, but I assumed he had heard him.

"Here you go." Edward tapped my shoulder and handed me my phone. "So, what do you plan on doing while you're here? Besides the wedding."

I sighed, shrugging. "I don't know yet."

"Wrong answer," he teased. "You're supposed to say you're going out with me."

I couldn't help but smile. He was pretty damn charming, I had to give him that.

"Oh. Right."

Rubbing his hands on his jean-clad thighs, he muttered, "Why do I get the feeling you're going to bail on me?"

"Because I probably will. Don't get me wrong, the act you've got going on is pretty convincing."

"What act?" he questioned, keeping the smirk in place.

"The charming stranger act."

"So, let me get this straight: first, you thought I was trying to rob you, and now you think I'm trying to get into your pants?"

"Well? Are you?" I asked boldly.

We stared at one another for a moment before he released a breathy laugh and looked away. "I mean, I wouldn't be opposed if that were to happen. What do you expect me to say to that?"

"I don't expect anything," I replied, crossing my arms.

"Alright." He bounced his knee and turned his attention out the window.

I busied myself and pulled out my phone to let Kate know I was on my way to her apartment, when I noticed an unknown number in my recent texts. It was different area code than Kate's, and the outbound text—which was sent five minutes ago—said 'hi.'

"Did you use my phone to text someone?" I accused. "That's... so uncool."

"Uncool?" He laughed, reaching into his pocket. "Look," he said, showing me his screen, and I recognized my number.

"You sent a text from my phone... to your phone," I deadpanned.

"Give me some credit. You weren't going to give me your number."

"That was sneaky."

"So is stealing someone's seat before they board the plane," he shot back, looking pleased with himself.

Our conversation ended then, and the rest of the cab ride was spent in silence.

"I got this," he said, waving me off when I reached for my wallet once we pulled in front of Kate's building.

"That's silly. I can pay my half."

"You don't have to," he urged. "Pay me back by going out with me."

I clicked my tongue. "Maybe."

My answer was obviously good enough, because he exited the cab and pulled my suitcase out, carrying it and placing it under the awning.

"Thanks," I uttered, giving him a small smile and reaching out my hand to shake his. "It was nice meeting you. Thanks for not stealing my suitcase or mugging me."

"No problem," he laughed, squeezing my hand a little tighter. "Can I call you? I know a nice Italian restaurant."

"I'll call you. I don't know when I'll be free," I answered, pulling my hand from his.

"Okay. Well, it was nice meeting you, Bella," he said softly, turning and walking back towards the cab.

I made my way up to Kate's apartment, thankful it was nicer than her last place, which was infested with bedbugs. I wasn't stupid. I knew her last divorce helped pay for this place.

Since I'd spent the day traveling, Kate's plan for the night was to stay in, drink wine, and watch terrible television. After I showered and settled in, I made myself comfortable on her couch, which was where I'd be sleeping during my stay.

With it being my first night in New York, Kate asked multiple times if I was sure I wanted to stay in. I assured her it was fine, and we easily made it through one bottle of wine before eight PM.

After gossiping about certain family members and talking about her upcoming wedding, Kate politely asked, "How was the flight?"

"I thought the plane was going to crash," I said seriously, receiving an eye roll. "I'm not joking. It was terrifying. Everyone was screaming, and I think my seatmate was scared, too. He held my hand."

"Some random dude held your hand?" she questioned, narrowing her eyes. "That's creepy."

"Is it?" I asked, grabbing a piece of gouda, popping it into my mouth. "It didn't feel that weird. He asked me out. I mean, he asked me out _before _the plane nosedived, but yeah."

"Wow. That never happens to me," she mused.

"That's because you're engaged."

"So? Even still. I've never been hit on while flying," she whined, sipping the rest of her wine. "What's his name?"

I sighed, slightly annoyed, and said, "Edward."

"Edward? That's the least hot name I've ever heard," she snorted, getting up from the couch, grabbing the half empty bottle of wine from the counter. "Is he cute?"

"Sure. He's not unfortunate looking."

"Did you tell him yes?" she asked, refilling my glass before pouring the rest of the wine into hers.

"Sort of. He was way too nice, though. I stole his seat..."

"Such a bitchy move!" Kate snapped before laughing. "You have got to quit doing that shit. Someone is going to shoot you."

"If I'm going to steal someone's seat, it might as well be on a plane, right? They've made it through security and likely not to be armed and dangerous."

"Good point. It's still bitchy. So..."

"I doubt we'll actually meet up. I'll be busy doting on you before the wedding," I teased. "I do have his number, though."

"You should sleep with him," she blurted out, smiling widely. "You should totally sleep with him."

"Why? I'll never see him again."

"Exactly. That's the point!" she screeched, pointing at me.

"I don't know," I mumbled, staring into my wine glass. "It just seems weird."

"You've never had a one night stand before, have you? Live a little," she whined.

"I can live without sleeping with a stranger."

"No, you can't," she countered, throwing a piece of cheese at me. "You need a date for my wedding, right? Invite him."

"I doubt some stranger is going to accept to be my date to a wedding. Get real," I scoffed, already pushing the idea out of my head.

"You could just ask. What do you have to lose?" she questioned, and I swear I'd never rolled my eyes so hard in my life. "You have his number?"

"Yes."

"Text him. Invite him to the rehearsal dinner tomorrow night and see how it goes."

Chugging the contents of my glass, I stood and paced the living room. "You're insane. He's not going to attend a fucking rehearsal dinner where he knows absolutely no one."

"You don't know that, and if you're so worried, don't tell him it's my rehearsal dinner. Problem solved."

"I'm not going to lie to him," I argued. "He held my hand when I thought we were going to die, and he loaded my luggage into the cab. I'm not going to lie to him."

"You're not _lying_. You merely forgot to mention it."

"You're terrible," I muttered, walking over to where my purse was, pulling out my phone.

Scrolling through my contact list, I began typing a message, not bothering to overthink what I was doing.

_Okay. I'll go out with you._

I stared at my phone, pleased when he replied less than a minute later.

_Took you long enough. What if I changed my mind?_

_Did you?  
><em>

_No. I said 'what if'.  
><em>

_Funny.  
><em>

_Are you drunk?  
><em>

I was, but I wasn't going to tell him that. It was the only reason I'd had enough courage to text him._  
><em>

_What? Why would you ask me that?  
><em>

_Because it's after midnight.  
><em>

_I've been busy. Meet me outside The Oak Room tomorrow night. 8PM work for you?  
><em>

_Oak Room? Fancy. Are you trying to impress me?  
><em>

_No. Will you be there or not?  
><em>

_I'll be there._

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><p><strong>AN:**** Thanks for: reading, reviewing, and voting for this in TLS poll.  
><strong>

**Thanks to: Julie for being my real estate agent, and Kim for everything!**


	6. High School

**Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. Duh.**

The Twilight Twenty-Five

Prompt #13 High School  
>Pen Name: iambeagle<br>Pairing/Main Character(s) Edward/Bella

* * *

><p><strong>Now<strong>

**From: ecullen**

**To: bellamswan**

**Date: Saturday, February 18, 2012 at 2:13 AM**

****Subject: Hey  
><strong>  
><strong>I don't expect you to respond. I just wanted to say congratulations on the job. Kate told me you were offered the position at the high school.

Hope you're doing well. I think about you sometimes.

Edward

**From: ecullen**

**To: bellamswan**

**Date: Saturday, February 18, 2012 at 2:20 AM**

**Subject: (no subject)  
><strong>

I lied. I think about you all the fucking time.


	7. Lighter

**Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. Duh.**

The Twilight Twenty-Five

except not. 'cause I didn't finish it on time. okay.

Prompt: #i don't know  
>Pen Name: iambeagle<br>Pairing/Main Character(s): Edward/Bella

* * *

><p><strong>Then<strong>

I was kind of a fucking wreck.

_He's not going to show_, I thought to myself, pulling my phone out of my clutch to reveal the time. Edward wasn't late, seeing as how it was only seven forty-five, but still.

My nerves regarding tonight had been present all day long, despite the fact that we―Kate and her closest girlfriends―had been consuming alcohol _all day long_. There were bloody marys at brunch, mimosas at the spa, and a glass of champagne to accompany a weak moment before I decided it was nearing eight and I should wait outside for Edward.

"Why are you freaking out?" Kate had questioned with a perfectly arched eyebrow before I exited the hotel.

I had no real, justified reason as to why I was freaking out, other than the fact that I had invited a stranger to accompany me as a date to my cousin's rehearsal dinner. I kept that bit to myself, deciding she could figure it out on her own. She gave me a look, one that conveyed I wasn't allowed to blame her if this backfired, even though it was her idea.

With my back against the cool concrete of the hotel, I opened my clutch again, trading my cell phone for the lone cigarette Kate had given me five minutes prior. It was more of a _want_ than a _need_ for the nicotine. I wasn't a smoker, not really, but I wanted something to calm my nerves and distract me from _everything_.

I brought the cigarette to my lips, sighing as I realized I had no lighter. I focused on the people bustling past me, and reached out to tap an older man on the shoulder, hoping he could help me out.

"Excuse me?" I asked politely, receiving zero attention from the man as he kept walking down the sidewalk. "Sir?" I said loudly, causing the man's steps to falter as he slightly looked back at me, clearly annoyed. "Do you have a light?"

He grunted something and kept walking, and I stood there, not sure why I was so surprised a stranger hadn't helped me out. And then my thoughts were on Edward, the stranger who was overly nice to me on a plane; the stranger who let me sit in his seat, held my hand, and carried my luggage.

"Hey," a voice behind me called out, and I spun around, face to face with the person I was just thinking about. "You look nice," Edward said, appraising my strapless navy dress with twinkling eyes.

"You showed," I blurted out, his mouth turning up in a small smirk.

"You invited me," he explained, rubbing the back of his neck. "Didn't you?"

I nodded, feeling the purposely messy chignon at the nape of my neck bob along with me. My eyes traveled from his smiling face, taking in the black suit jacket, crisp white shirt, and black slacks that seemed to fit his body perfectly.

"You look nice, too," I said, returning the compliment.

"You smoke," he assessed, eyeing the cigarette in my hand.

My mouth opened, no words escaping for a good second. "Well... not really. I'm just nervous, I guess."

Keeping his eyes on me, he reached into his pocket and produced what I needed. "Why would you be nervous?"

"Because..." I reached out for the lighter, rolling my eyes as he teasingly pulled it away before I grabbed it.

"Do I make you nervous?" His index finger curled, his way of beckoning me, wanting me closer.

Two steps toward him closed the distance, and he flicked the lighter as I leaned over, letting the tip of my cigarette meet the flame. With an inhale and a quick exhale, I mumbled, "I was nervous you were going to stand me up."

He laughed, shaking his head. "I wouldn't do that."

"Well, how should I know that? I don't know you."

"You say that a lot. _I don't know you_," he mocked, good naturedly.

"I say it because it's true." The words were just out of my mouth when a pedestrian bumped into my shoulder, knocking me into Edward. His hands reached out to steady me, shooting a glare over my shoulder at the person who pushed me into his arms.

"Maybe we shouldn't stand in the middle of the sidewalk," he suggested, chuckling as I wiped ash off his jacket, his hands still on my shoulders.

"Good idea," I mumbled, glancing up at him.

His look was piercing as he searched my face, eyes full of amusement. And maybe it didn't matter if I knew nothing about this man. I decided I wanted to.

"So, The Oak Room," he said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks as he leaned back against the building. "Have you ever been here before?"

"No. You?"

"Nah."

"But you've lived in New York for how long?" I asked, inhaling the last of the cigarette before dropping it to the cement, suffocating the flame with my heel.

"For a while," he replied, running a hand through his hair. "I didn't make a habit of visiting all of the cliché tourist traps when I moved here."

"Oh. You're one of_ those _people." I laughed, shaking my head as he grinned. "The Oak Room is not a tourist trap, just so you know."

"And how would you know?"

"I googled _tourist traps in New York_. The Oak Room wasn't on the list," I admitted. "But if being here cramps your style or whatever, you can leave."

He sighed exaggeratedly, pretending to think it over. "I'll do it for you. I'll eat the overpriced food and get drunk on overpriced liquor."

"Actually, everything tonight will be free, so..." I trailed off, deciding to blurt out the truth and get it over with. "So, you know my cousin, the one who is getting married? Well, her rehearsal dinner is tonight," I explained, watching as his brows furrowed in confusion before realization set in.

"You invited me to the rehearsal dinner?" he asked, chuckling.

"In my defense, I did want to go out with you. I just have limited time on my hands, so..." I stopped speaking, because he didn't look convinced. "I needed a date and Kate thinks I need to get laid."

Edward smiled widely, causing his eyes to crinkle in the corners. "Wow."

"Too much information?" He shrugged, still smiling. "My honesty is only going to get worse from here on out. That happens when I drink."

"Alcohol plays as a truth serum for you?" he questioned.

"I thought that was the case for everyone," I shot back, crossing my arms over my chest as a breeze picked up. "We should go inside. They're waiting."

"I don't know about this now. You tricked me into being your date. I feel duped or something."

"Don't feel duped," I disagreed. "You should feel flattered."

"Is that so?"

"It is."

He clicked his tongue, narrowing his eyes. "I'm going to need you to answer some questions before I agree to this."

"Fine. Ask away."

"Why don't you already have a date?" he immediately asked.

"This is Kate's third wedding. I'm kind of over the whole _date _thing," I explained honestly. "Especially when I knew I'd have to ask said date to pay for a flight to New York."

"Ah. So you figured you'd just meet a charming man in New York and trick him into being your date?" he asked, leaning closer.

"Who said you're charming?" I scoffed, though I could tell neither of us were convinced by my words.

"Insulting me isn't the best way to get me to be your date," he chastised.

"Fine, you're charming. Will you be my date now?"

"Only if you agree to go out with me again before you leave," he countered.

"Okay. Only if you agree to take me to all of the tourist traps. Oh, and you have to be my date for the actual wedding."

He responded by placing a hand on the small of my back and guiding me inside the hotel.

"Is that a yes?" I whispered.

"For you? Sure," he answered simply.

* * *

><p><strong>So, I didn't finish The Twilight25. Go fucking figure. But, hey. I'm still going to write this. Mostly 'cause one or two people will break my legs if I don't.<strong>

**Thanks, Kim. Thanks, y'all.**


	8. Bookstore

**Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. Duh.**

The Twilight Twenty-Five

is this information necessary? it's a constant reminder that I failed. lol.

Prompt: #4 bookstore  
>Pen Name: iambeagle<br>Pairing/Main Character(s): Edward/Bella

* * *

><p><strong>Now<strong>

"Edward's dating someone. I heard they met in a bookstore," Kate informs me, five minutes into our phone conversation. When I don't immediately reply, she lets out an exaggerated sigh. "He's such a pussy. You're better off without him."

"I know," I easily lie, logging in to my email.

"You're okay, right?"

"Yes," I lie again, deleting all of his emails, one of which was sent today. They're always the same—filled with apologies and _I miss you_ and _the kiss meant nothing, I swear_.

"Have you heard from him?"

"No," I lie for the last time, blocking his email address.


	9. Scotch

**Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. Duh.**

The Twilight Twenty-Five

ha.

* * *

><p><strong>Then<strong>

Though I had been skeptical, we made it through the rehearsal dinner without a hitch. Everyone was too giddy and drunk—on love, champagne, and happiness—to care that my date was someone I'd met on a plane.

Then again, it probably had more to do with the fact that Edward was incredibly charming, insanely good looking, and extremely likable.

"Apparently I duped the right guy into being my date," I whispered near the end of the night, after sappy toasts and before drunken goodbyes.

He smirked, drumming his fingers against the base of his champagne glass. "You think so?"

Maybe I was just drunk, but yes. I really thought so.

Leaning over, he asked, "So? Is the night over, Bella?"

His words were low and quiet in my ear, allowing no one near us to hear. The secrecy of his question and the meaning behind it caused goose bumps to break out over my skin.

I wanted to kiss him. I couldn't help it. I wanted to go back to his place and I wanted to let him fuck me.

"I don't know. Is it?" I shot back, but with less conviction than I wanted, because his knee pressed against my thigh under the table, and his arm draped over the back of my chair.

Though we were already so close, I had the overwhelming urge to be closer. And no, I hoped the night wasn't over, but I kept my lips pressed together and hoped my eyes conveyed what I didn't let my mouth reveal.

"Come outside with me while I wait for a cab?" He stated more than questioned, tugging on my hand. I think he had a feeling I'd follow, and I wasn't sure if I was annoyed by his confidence.

"Sure. Okay," I agreed, letting him link his fingers with mine.

Our hands stayed clasped in one another's as we said our goodbyes; as he endured drunk nice to meet yous from my extended family, and one too many hugs from my aunt Charlotte.

"I had fun," he murmured, removing his hand from mine and slipping it into the pocket of his slacks once we exited the hotel.

"Me too," I replied, looking past him down the street, pretending to search for a vacant cab. "You made a good impression. Not that it matters."

He ignored my comment and instead, caught my gaze, held it, then smiled slowly. "So, what are you going to do now?"

"What are _you _going to do?" I asked, unsure of what he expected me to say. The look in his eyes already told me what I needed to know, but I wanted to hear him say it.

"We could hang out," he suggested, shrugging like it didn't matter to him whether or not we continued the evening.

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. "Yes, we could."

"Would you feel comfortable going back to my place?"

I nodded, any reservation about whether or not I could trust him quickly out the window. "Yeah, I would."

With my admission, he closed the distance between us, towering over me as he breathed out, "Can I kiss you? Would that be okay?"

"Yes," I murmured, keeping my eyes on his lips as he broke out into a grin.

"Good. Let's go," he said, not kissing me, but taking my hand again as we waited for a cab to pull over.

He opened the back door to let me in first, then slid in behind me. He rattled off his address to the driver and I stared at his profile in the darkness of the cab, mesmerized by the shadows that played on his face.

"Just a warning, my place is probably a mess."

"Do you live far from here?" I asked, forcing him to look over at me.

"Nah. Less than fifteen minutes," he said, placing a hand on my knee.

"Any roommates?"

"No. I live in a studio, so I can't imagine having a roommate."

"That's cool," I murmured, turning to stare out the window so he couldn't read my expression. I was thankful we'd be the only ones at his place. If this was going to be a one night stand, possibly even two nights, I didn't want to deal with anyone else, such as chatty, nosy roommates.

Soon enough, the cab pulled over in front of a seafood market and I stepped out onto the street, deciding to send Kate a quick text while Edward paid the driver. I glanced up at the street signs, letting her know where I was, and where I'd probably be spending the night.

Edward cleared his throat and mumbled, "Ready?"

I slipped my phone back into my clutch before I could read her reply. "Ready." I nodded, following him as he walked towards a nondescript door, pulling out a set of keys to let us in.

We walked up the four flights of stairs in silence before he stopped in front of a door, smiling to himself as he opened it.

"I told you it was a mess," he mumbled self consciously, letting me in first then locking the door behind him. "So, this is it."

"It's not that bad," I assured him, glancing around the small space, which consisted of a large room with wood floors and an attached kitchen.

"The bathroom is through there," he pointed towards the lone door, located off the kitchen.

I hummed, taking in everything that was him. He had an unmade bed, a desk scattered with papers where his Mac sat, and a bookcase overflowing with books, some of which were on the floor.

He draped his jacket over the back of the single chair sitting at his desk, politely asking, "Do you want a drink?" He stared expectantly, opening one of the two cabinets in the kitchen, and producing a bottle of scotch.

"Sure," I muttered, setting my clutch on his desk and slipping out of my heels before sitting on his bed.

"What do you want to do?" he questioned, handing me the glass before sitting next to me.

"You should kiss me," I said boldly.

Licking his lips, he whispered, "You've been thinking about that, haven't you?"

"Maybe," I admitted playfully, then, "Yes."

We stared at one another for a moment before he set his glass on the floor, then grabbed mine, placing in next to his. And then he leaned over without hesitation and grabbed the back of my neck, placing his lips on mine.

The kiss was meant to be chaste, but it's not what I wanted; not what I needed. So, I kissed him back, deeper, grabbing onto his shoulders and moved to straddle his lap.

"You're so—fuck," he mumbled into my mouth, wrapping his arms around my waist before he leaned back against the bed, taking me with him.

Our chests were pressed together and I planted kisses along his stubble covered jaw, down his neck, and on his Adam's apple. His hands slid down my back, over my ass as I began grinding against him.

"Look," he said through gritted teeth. "I don't want you to think I expect anything. I mean, obviously I wouldn't be opposed to... _whatever_, but—"

"Stop."

"What? Why?"

I sat up, thighs still on either side of his waist, reaching behind and struggling with my zipper. "You don't have to say anything, I swear. It's okay." And with that, I grabbed his hand and asked for help unzipping my dress, raising my arms as he lifted it above my head.

"I'm just making sure—"

"It's fine. I mean, I don't usually do this, but it's fine," I told him as I frantically unbuttoned his shirt, wondering if he believed me. It was the truth, but it's not as though he knew that.

"Good," he replied, careful of his words, his nimble fingers unhooking the clasp on my bra.

"I don't expect anything either. I just want... _this_. Right now."

He almost smiled, but held back. "You want what?" he asked, voice rough, tossing my bra to the floor.

"I want you to fuck me," I breathed out, and he sat up, kissing me once, twice.

"Good, because I'm going to," he said between kisses. "Stay here. Don't move."

Leaving the bed, he pulled off his shirt and struggled with the button on his pants before stepping out of them. He disappeared into the bathroom and I heard a few items fall to the floor, low curse escaping his lips. And then he was walking back across the room in only his boxers, smirk plastered on his face.

"Look at you," he whispered, and I lay back while he pulled off his boxers, crawling back onto the bed.

My eyes traveled over his body before I locked my gaze on his, watching as he carefully slipped my underwear off for me.

I lay there, chest heaving as he kissed his way up my body before supporting his weight on his forearms, hovering over me.

"Hi," he breathed out, smiling as his hair fell in his eyes. I resisted the urge to push it off his forehead, because that wasn't what this was about.

When I said nothing in return—mostly because I didn't know what I could say—he snaked a hand between us, slowly circling my clit with his thumb.

"You're gonna have to tell me what you like..." he trailed off, and I closed my eyes as he slipped a finger into me. "Because I want you to feel good."

"That," I told him, grabbing his shoulders. "That feels good."

"What about this?" he asked, removing his hand and gripping himself, teasing my clit with the head of his dick.

"Fuck. Yes," I panted, hips slightly lifting from the mattress. "If you keep doing—" I stopped myself from telling him I could come merely from that.

He let out a low, breathy laugh, because he knew. He fucking knew.

"Is that a bad thing? I want you to come," he whispered, lowering his mouth to my breast, still teasing me with his dick.

"Not yet. You need to fuck me," I panted. "Please," I begged and begged, until he rolled on the condom, but making no other move. "What are you doing?" I whined.

He smiled lightly, searching my face. "Are you sure?"

"What? Yes. Why are you questioning me? I already told you—"

He cut me off by kissing me, keeping his lips attached to mine as he slowly pushed into me, gaining a breath as I lost mine.

"Shit," he hissed through clenched teeth, hips rolling against mine and placing his lips on my shoulder. "You feel so goddamn good, Bella."

As our bodies moved together, I began to wonder if he expected this to happen. If he charmed and pursued me, hoping at some point we would end up at his place, with me—the girl he knew would only be here for a week—screaming his name. And then I decided it didn't matter, because this was all I wanted: a no strings attached, one night stand with the guy in seat 15B.

His grunting pulled me out of my thoughts, and I slowed my movements, telling him I wanted to be on top. He somehow kept himself inside me as we rolled over, a move that I found impressive, but made no comment on. I moved up, and he brought one of his hands to cup my face. I slid down, and he slipped one of his fingers in my mouth.

"Too good," he groaned, sitting up and placing his hands on my hips, rocking them for me.

"I know," I moaned, our breaths accelerating. We were both on the verge, _right there_ and so close, and he was right. It was good, almost _too _good.

And I knew it wasn't supposed to be like this; so in sync and comfortable and easy. This couldn't be a one night stand, because I couldn't _stand_ to have this for only _one night_. It was that sudden thought that made me pull away from his lips, trying to break the connection.

"It's not supposed to be this good," I mumbled, because I wanted him to know. We locked eyes and he let out a shaky breath as I wrapped my arms around his neck for leverage.

"I know," he said this time, snaking his hand between our sweaty bodies to help me out. "I'm so close. Can you come for me?"

I concentrated on what he was doing—the way he felt inside me and the sensation of his stubble against my skin as he placed his lips on my breast, biting lightly. And then he began to groan, holding me tighter and rubbing my clit faster as I felt him come, trying his hardest to make me feel as good as he did.

And then I did, not caring that his name escaped from my lips as I fell, hard and fast, exactly how I needed it.

I'd wanted a good fuck, and he'd given me just that. But then he kissed me as he pulled out, and I tried to blame the sudden swell in my chest on the fact that I was drunk.

Because I refused to become attached. I refused to let myself fall.

* * *

><p><strong>Okay. Listen. Guys? The odd chapters are THEN. The even chapters are NOW. Capiche? Am I making sense? I feel bad because I don't know how else to explain it. <strong>I love y'all. PM me if you need me to break it down. <strong>****Thanks for reading.**

**Thanks Kim & Crystal. You know why.**


	10. 1AM

**Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. Duh.**

* * *

><p><strong>Now<strong>

1AM. My phone lights up with his number, the only time he knows I'll answer.

"Do I need to change my number again?" I ask.

"Talk to me," he begs.

A lump forms in my throat. "Talk to your girlfriend."

"Bella."

"There's nothing to say. I'm tired."

"I know you blame me—"

"You're right."

"You don't think you're to blame, too? I wanted you to move here. All I asked was that you wait until I was finished with school—"

I'm outraged. "You cheated on me!"

He's calm. "We were on a break. We were figuring shit out."

"Fuck you."

* * *

><p><strong>I don't know why I'm writing exactly 100 words for the present chapters. So don't ask, lol. It works, maybe. Thanks for reading.<strong>


	11. Shift

**Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. Duh.**

* * *

><p><strong>Then<strong>

I couldn't sleep.

For whatever reason, I was wired, buzzing with anticipation. The feeling wasn't completely unwelcome, but I knew I'd be paying for this restlessness in a few hours when I'd have to cab it back to Kate's place and deal with wedding festivities for the remainder of the day.

Careful not to wake Edward, I crawled over him and out of his bed. I squinted in the dark and searched the floor for my dress, but found his discarded button down first. So, I pulled it on and left it unbuttoned, hoping he wouldn't mind. Scratch that. _Knowing _he wouldn't mind.

I tiptoed across his studio to the bathroom. I drank two glasses of water. I raided his fridge. Or I would have, but there was nothing edible.

I was still peering inside his fridge, wondering how a person manages to live without food, when his rough voice startled me.

"Hey," he grumbled, and I turned in his direction to see the shadow of his body sit up. "Are you robbing me right now?"

"Um." I slowly shut the refrigerator door and walked back towards the bed. "You have absolutely nothing edible in your fridge. What would I steal?"

"Good point." His laugh was thick with sleep, and I resisted the urge to straddle him.

That resistance lasted a mere five seconds.

"You're wearing my shirt," he practically groaned as I climbed on him, my knees pushing into the mattress.

I shrugged. "I couldn't find my dress."

"It looks terrible on you. Take it off." He yawned through his smile, causing me to yawn in return.

His left hand rubbed my back and his right hand opened the shirt, just enough for him to peek inside; just enough for me to feel his dick harden beneath me.

"Yeah. You should definitely take this off," he ordered, slipping it off my shoulders and letting it fall to the floor.

It was slower this time. Our touches weren't as frenzied and our kisses weren't as rushed.

When he brushed his nose against my collarbone and kissed his way down my chest, I shivered. When I pushed him back against the mattress and circled my hips against his, he grinned.

When he pushed into me, he breathed my name, and when I came first, I gasped his.

He flipped me over and I moaned, partly because I wasn't expecting it to feel this way, but also because he made me come too fast and I needed it again. I told him this, and he groaned, or maybe laughed, rubbing my clit as he pushed into me from behind.

We were hushed moans and quiet curses and _yes_ and_ God, yes_, and _fuck me.  
><em>

He came, and I felt his lips on my back, and when I came again, I felt _everything_.

When we were sated and breathless, he rolled over with a groan, keeping a hand on my back.

"You're the best one night stand I've ever had," I mumbled against my arm. I still hadn't moved. I didn't want or need to.

"Yeah? I thought you didn't do this kind of thing..." he trailed off, words quickly turning into a yawn. "I like you, too."

I was on the verge of sleep when I felt him shift next to me. With my eyes closed, I could feel his gaze on me, and smiled.

"Talk to me," he suggested, a whispered plea.

"Okay. About what?"

"I don't know. Anything."

I thought for a minute. What I really wanted to ask was if he did this often—slept with women he just met. But then I'd have to lay here in his bed, and pretend to not be jealous if he said yes. And if he said no, I probably wouldn't believe him, anyway.

"Why did you move to New York?" I asked instead; a safe topic.

"For school."

"That's not nearly as interesting as I thought," I teased, opening my eyes and searching for his in the dark. "You didn't come here to pursue your dreams of being on Broadway?"

"Well, yeah. That's what brought me here," he responded, somehow able to not crack a smile. "But it didn't work out, so I decided to focus on architecture. I just started my second year of grad school."

"Are you almost done?"

"It's a three year program. So, not really."

"Well, I don't know anyone who's studying architecture. Is it difficult?"

"It's not easy, but I want it," he admitted, voice full of honesty.

We stared at one another, and I'd be lying if I said there wasn't a sudden shift between us. I didn't know what it was exactly, and I knew I wouldn't be able to comprehend it, even if I tried.

"Columbia, right?" I swallowed, clearing my head of whatever moment just occurred. "I overheard you talking to Garrett earlier at dinner."

His scoff was playful as he asked, "You were eavesdropping? What else did you hear, huh?" I laughed a little too hard. "Did you overhear me talking about you?"

My laughter faded away, turning into a wide smile. "I guess I must have missed that bit."

"That's good, otherwise this would be _really _awkward right now. I'd hate for you to know how attracted I am to you."

"Right." I snorted. "Because the sex we had fifteen minutes ago gave me no indication of said attraction."

He released a throaty, deep laugh; one that warmed me right down to my bones with how infectious it was. I couldn't help but smile. I couldn't help but move closer until I felt his breath on my face.

"You know..." he trailed off, brows knitting together. "You're different than I thought you'd be."

I didn't bother questioning him, because I didn't really want to know why. What I did want to know was, "Is that good or bad?"

"Good. Very good," he told me, and I believed him.

The effects of the alcohol had worn off, and I knew the boldness of my next question was solely because we were wrapped in the safety of darkness.

"Did you think about this? Us sleeping together?"

"Yes and no," he answered, and I smiled at the simpleness of his response.

"Should I question this, or shall I let you keep some mystery?"

He let his arm rest across my hip, quietly explaining that _yes_, he thought about it, but _no_, he didn't think it'd actually happen.

Without another word, I closed my eyes, matching my breathing to his and slowly succumbing to sleep.

* * *

><p><strong>Well. Thanks for reading.<strong>

**Srup & Crystal make me write. They're cool.**


	12. Stop

**Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. Duh.**

* * *

><p><strong>Now<strong>

**From: bellamswan**

**To: ecullen**

**Date: Monday, March 5, 2012 at 1:27 AM**

**Subject: (no subject)**

You don't deserve to hear from me. But I've been drinking and I can't sleep because I'm thinking about you and it's your birthday and I need to stop.

So.

Fuck you for trying so hard in the beginning.

Fuck you for making it easy to fall for you.

Fuck you for making me doubt myself and wanting to give you a second chance.

Fuck you for being so hard to get over.

...

I fall asleep before I'm done typing, and when I wake up, I don't bother sending the email.

I don't even let myself cry.


	13. Cliché

**Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. Duh.**

* * *

><p><strong>Then<strong>

Minus a tiny mix-up with the caterer, who ended up serving the wrong main dish, the wedding was stunning. The ceremony was short and simple, nothing over the top. The banquet room at the boathouse was transformed for the reception, all soft romantic glows and casual elegance.

Everything was flawless.

Including Edward. His hair was less disheveled than at the rehearsal dinner and though it seemed he had attempted to shave, there was still light stubble coating his jaw. I may have tried to downplay how good he looked when he first showed up, but I'm sure he saw right through me.

After the cutting of the cake and the tossing of the bouquet, I was warm and giddy, caught up in the buzz that surrounded the room. This wasn't like Kate's past weddings, because it wasn't _just_a wedding, but the joining of two families. A celebration of love. And when I told all of this to Edward, he merely laughed and told me the champagne was going to my head.

"I'm just happy that Kate finally seems happy." I shrugged, trying my best to explain it to him.

"The champagne is making you sentimental," he commented, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. "Weddings," he said in a teasing tone, rolling his eyes.

His tie had come undone after we'd danced a few times; his cheeks were flushed and his eyes were twinkling. I sipped my drink to give me something to do other than stare at him.

"I am not getting sentimental," I argued. "I'm just saying everything feels different this time."

He smirked. "Because I'm here."

That hadn't crossed my mind. He might've been right, but I decided not to comment on it.

Edward looked thoughtful for a minute, then pointed at me with his champagne glass. "You seem less cynical than when you first arrived in New York."

"Less cynical?" I repeated, scrunching my nose. "Well, I'm definitely less sober. Maybe that's all it is."

"Or maybe you're just ready to get married," he suggested, shooting me a cheesy grin.

"Not yet. I didn't catch the bouquet, remember?"

"Which I still think is bullshit. You so had that," he said, shaking his head.

We kept the conversation light as the night went on, occasionally allowing others to join whatever we were discussing. But whenever one of us would leave the table, and I was forced to speak to someone else, the conversation didn't seem to compare to those with Edward. I was quickly becoming biased—no one made me laugh as much as he did.

Or maybe he was right and the champagne _was_ going to my head.

Near the end of the reception, I was able to pull Kate off to the side before she and Garrett headed back to the hotel. After a few minutes of glassy eyes and congratulations, I looked past Kate's shoulder and caught Edward staring at me from across the room. I gave him a tiny smile, causing Kate to look behind her.

When she asked how last night went, I nonchalantly answered that it had been fine. She didn't look convinced by my simple answer, and I didn't expect her to. The look on my face said enough; I didn't need to waste my breath on something that would be a fling.

Kate murmured that she and Garrett would be leaving soon due to an early flight. So, we hugged and said our goodbyes with promises to see each other soon.

I made my way back towards the table, reeling as Edward's grin grew wider with each step I took. He might've been on his way to being drunk, and maybe I already was, but no one had ever looked at me like that before. I almost told him this, but then he spoke first.

"There you are," he commented, as if his eyes hadn't been on me the entire time I was away.

"Hey." I grinned back at him as I sat down, scooting my chair closer to his. "Kate and Garrett are heading to the hotel soon, so I wanted to make sure I said bye. They fly out tomorrow."

"Where are they going?"

"They're honeymooning in Hawaii."

He let out a low whistle. "Exciting."

"I guess."

"Did you just _I guess _Hawaii? Who does that?" he asked, looking a little more shocked than necessary.

"She went there on her first honeymoon," I told him in a hushed voice. "Besides, Hawaii just seems a bit cliché to me."

"Oh, come on," he groaned, tilting his head back, still grinning. I stared at his Adam's apple.

"I'm not into clichés." I shrugged, stealing his drink.

"When do you fly back?" he asked a few minutes later. It struck me as odd that this hadn't come up sooner, but I guess there hadn't really been a time.

"Wednesday morning," I said quietly before pressing my lips together.

He gave me some sort of half nod as he said, "So, we still have... three days."

I tried not to smile. "We?"

"Well... they're leaving for their honeymoon, right?" I nodded. "So, yeah. _We_."

"You don't think this is too much?" I asked, softer than I should've.

"You invited me to a wedding, so... no."

"Hm. Good point." Our eyes stayed locked, until I broke the contact to pick up my fork, pushing the half-eaten cake around on my plate.

"Don't feel pressured. If you have other plans or something, you won't hurt my feelings."

"My plans involved sightseeing," I told him. When I'd booked the flight, I was aware Kate and Garrett would be leaving the day after the wedding, but that didn't bother me. I specifically chose to fly out a few days after the wedding so I could have time to hang around for a few days.

"And wouldn't sightseeing be that much better with your own personal tour guide?"

"I'm not really interested in a tour guide," I replied, and he leaned closer. "They're expensive and a waste."

"I'm the cheapest in town," he informed me, lightly pressing his lips to mine.

I laughed at his persistence, pushing him away. "I wouldn't brag about that."

"Bella," he said sternly. "Just give in already."

"Okay, fine." I sighed dramatically. "But I thought you weren't about the touristy shit?"

"I say a lot of things. But I did also say I'd do it for you, didn't I?"

"Yeah. But apparently people _say a lot of things_. I figured you were just saying that to get into my pants." I shrugged, trying my best to sound nonchalant.

"I'm not like that."

"You're a _guy_. Trust me, you're like that."

"I don't know what it's going to take for you to be convinced, but I didn't just ask you out to fuck you... if that's what you're thinking."

"No?" My brows raised in challenge. "So if I said I wanted to hook up in the coat closet right now, you'd turn me down?"

"Coat closet?" He couldn't even hide his grin. "I thought you weren't into clichés?"

"People say a lot of things," I quipped. "Let's go."

…

You can't fall in love in three days. It's impossible and just fucking ridiculous.

I didn't fall in love with Edward after he let me have his corn dog, even though I said I didn't want one, when we visited Coney Island. I didn't have expectations of spending the rest of my life with him after he kissed me as we toured the Statue of Liberty. And I especially didn't fall head over heels when he held my hand in the middle of Times Square.

I just _liked_ him—enjoyed spending time with him—and I knew the impending date of my flight was causing certain feelings to feel like... _more_.

I wasn't falling for him, no. Falling in love with someone you hardly knew after three days was cliché, and I wasn't into clichés.

I was just into Edward.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks so much for reading.<strong>

**Thanks S & C. Y'all are super nice.**


	14. Yes

**Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. Duh.**

* * *

><p><strong>Now<strong>

"Maybe you should just talk to him," Kate suggests.

"I don't _want_ to talk to him," I stress. And for a moment, I almost believe it.

"So you'd rather use my Facebook to stalk his photos and wait until his next status update? That sounds... _healthy_."

I can feel my resolve weakening as I murmur, "He hurt me."

"Well. You kind of hurt him, too," she points out. "Although that's no excuse for what he did. I'm still pissed at him, but, at the same time... it was _only _a kiss."

"He's dating someone else."

"He's trying to distract himself," she counters. "You've been on dates, too."

I wonder if Kate's tired of indulging me with this same conversation.

I wonder if Edward's thinking about me.

I wonder if I'll ever stop thinking about him.

"Can you get over it?" Kate finally asks, pulling me from my thoughts.

It's something new; not the usual direction she takes these discussions.

I breathe in, then exhale, hoping my voice won't crack as I say, "No."

"But do you _want _to?" she questions quietly.

_Yes_.

I just don't know how.


	15. Start

**Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. Duh.**

* * *

><p><strong>Then<strong>

The morning I was expected to fly out, I was startled awake by a clap of thunder.

Edward grumbled sleepily that it was raining, then shifted closer so his body was pressed against my back, tangling his legs with mine.

Sometime later, I was still staring at the ceiling, so I didn't bother trying to fall back asleep. Instead, I listened to the endless downpour of rain, the crackling thunder, and Edward's deep breathing, which let me know he had fallen back asleep.

It was still dark outside, the alarm on my phone had yet to sound, and I didn't want to leave. It might've been ridiculous, but it was true. I was suddenly filled with an unknown longing, one that added pressure to my chest and made it hard to breathe.

I was going to miss this man, this bed, these arms, things all of which I had no claim over. I had no idea if he was going to miss me, too, or if he even wanted to continue this—whatever _this _was. I didn't have the courage to ask.

Eventually I fell asleep, because the next thing I knew, Edward was mumbling it was time for me to wake up and that he had made coffee.

"What time is it?" I croaked, staring at him as he laid back in bed, barefoot and wearing jeans, no shirt. His hair was three shades darker and slightly falling in his eyes. His skin was warm and he smelled like soap. For a second time, my chest began to ache because _I didn't want to leave.  
><em>

He smiled affectionately. "I let you sleep in a little. It's just after six."

Silence took over and I was able to hear the rain harshly meeting the pavement.

"It's really coming down out there," I murmured, releasing a yawn.

"Yeah. We needed it. It hasn't rained in a while," he commented, staring towards the window. And then his gaze all but pierced me as he said, "I think New York is going to miss you."

It was evident then that he was going to miss me, too. He just didn't know how to say it. Maybe neither of us were supposed to make claims of missing one another.

Scooting closer, I pressed my mouth against his, mumbling against his lips that, "I'm going to miss New York, too."

…

I wasn't sure if it was due to the hour or the rain, but the streets in his neighborhood were eerily quiet. This was known as the city that never slept, but the gray sky and stillness on the pavement made me yearn for bed.

Though I had assured him he didn't have to, Edward offered to ride with me to the airport. It was more time with him. I'd take what I could get.

I didn't expect a huge goodbye, but when the cab pulled over and Edward exited without asking the driver to wait for him, I realized this wasn't going to be just a _bye, nice to meet you_sort of thing. But then we were standing on the sidewalk in front of the airport and it was apparent he didn't know what to say, so I spoke first.

"This was fun," I said lamely, finding it hard to look him in the eyes. "I had a nice time with you."

"Yeah. So did I," he agreed softly, tugging on the hem of my shirt, forcing my eyes to meet his gaze. "I'm glad you stole my seat." His tone was teasing, but I felt the truth behind his words.

_I was glad, too._

"Well." I released a breath, waiting for him to speak up. But he never did, so I reminded him, "You have my number."

I didn't know why, but he smiled. "And you have mine."

My face fell, and he frowned immediately after I did. I couldn't help it, though I knew I should've been able to. I expected nothing, but I wanted _something_. Not necessarily a label or promises to meet up again, but just confirmation that this was out of the ordinary. It isn't everyday you meet someone on a plane, spend a total of six days with them, and have this amazing of a time.

"This is just..." I let myself trail off, not wanting to make myself sound like a whiny, needy girl.

"It's just what?" he urged, placing a hand on my hip and pulling me closer to him. His knees bent and he forced me to look him square in the eye. "I hate that I can't tell what you're thinking. It's so frustrating."

"This is weird. Right?" I asked, but didn't wait for an answer. "I came to New York and spent most of my time with you, even though we just met. So... I don't know. It's just weird," I said again.

"It doesn't _feel _weird," he countered, brows still furrowed. "Not for me, at least."

I sighed, looking over his shoulder for a distraction. "Knowing me, I'm going to spend the entire flight wondering if you do this with every woman who sits next to you on a plane."

He released a low chuckle before leaning down and kissing me, soft and chaste. We stayed just like that, unmoving, until I deepened the kiss and placed my hands on his chest, pulling at his shirt.

"Don't do that," he scolded once we pulled away, and I released my grip on his collar. "No. I meant don't spend the entire flight thinking about if I do this with other women."

"Alright."

"Okay."

"Okay," I said this time. I'd stalled long enough, given him time and opportunities to say _whatever_, and nothing. "I guess I better go."

"Yeah. I'm sure you like to board early so you can scope out the seating situation." He grinned, shaking his head.

"Exactly." I laughed, but it was forced. "Thanks for riding with me to the airport. You really didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to," he insisted, reaching down to grab my suitcase. He stared at it for a moment, then said, "And to think, you thought I was going to steal your luggage the first day we met."

"Give me a break."

"Give me a kiss."

Our kiss turned into a hug, which turned into him whispering into my hair to have a safe flight.

And then I was walking away from him and through the glass doors that slid open for me, making it easier for me to keep moving ahead.

...

The next ten minutes passed extremely slow as I went through the typical motions before flying. I waited in line to check-in. I waited to have my suitcase weighed and set on the conveyer belt. I waited for the attendant to print my boarding pass.

I waited, I waited, I waited.

And while I waited patiently, I tried to keep my mind off of everything Edward, but, like a cruel joke, my phone vibrated and the screen lit up with his name.

_Did you go through security yet?  
><em>

My heart raced as I typed a reply.

_No, not yet._

_Can you come back outside?  
><em>

So, I did. Without question or hesitation or even thinking, really.

I exited the airport and spotted him off to the right, exactly where I'd left him.

"Hey..." I started, watching him smile weakly before running a hand over his mouth.

"I couldn't leave," he said, stepping forward, closing the distance.

I nodded, looking up at him. "I can see that."

"What are we doing?" he finally asked, placing a hand on my shoulder and giving it a light squeeze. "What do you want to do about this?"

"I don't really know," I mumbled, averting my gaze and staring at his shoes. "But listen. You don't have to feel bad about anything. I'm not trying to get you to label us or the past few days as anything."

He used his free hand to tilt my chin upward to search my face, and I knew if he stared long enough, he'd know I was lying. I wanted a label. I wanted _him_.

"What if I want to?" he questioned in a rough voice.

"Why would you want to do that?" I asked softly.

"I just do," he answered easily, even shrugging. "All I want is more time with you."

"Oh. That's all?" I questioned teasingly, moving my arms from my side and wrapping them around his waist.

"No, that's not _all_," he said assuredly, hands gliding to the back of my neck before he leaned down, placing his lips on mine. "But it's a start."

* * *

><p><strong>Thank. you. for. reading.<strong>

**The Lumineers and the brownie I devoured earlier helped me write this chapter.**

**Crystal and Kim promised this was okay to publish. I trust them because, well. I just do.**


	16. Cave

**Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. Duh.**

* * *

><p><strong>Now<strong>

It takes me a week and half a bottle of wine to find the courage to call Edward.

As I wait for him to answer, I suddenly can't seem to remember what it is I'm going to say to him.

I'm seconds away from hanging up, but then he speaks, and I'm frozen.

"Bella?" His voice is rough, like maybe I just woke him up.

There's movement—shuffling on the line—and I listen carefully. Maybe it's not fair, but I'm listening for someone else's voice in the background. Maybe I still don't trust him.

"Are you okay?" he questions quietly when I don't say anything.

"No," I finally answer, but it's nothing he didn't already know. "Were you sleeping?"

"Yeah, but it's fine," he says, more alert now.

I don't apologize because I'm not sorry I woke him. I listen to the way he breathes into the phone and try to remember what I wanted to say.

"Did you sleep with her?" I don't even know_ her _name. All I do know is that he works with her—she came onto him a few times while we were dating—and he kissed her while he was drunk off whiskey and heartbreak.

_At least he was honest _was my first thought after he confessed. But then my mind ran wild with scenarios he might've kept from me, a curse I acquired after hearing the person I loved had just kissed a pair of lips that weren't mine.

"Did you sleep with her?" I ask again, not knowing if he answered me a few seconds ago because my own thoughts were louder than his voice.

"No," he tells me without hesitation.

"Did you want to?" I don't know why it matters. It just does.

He almost sounds angry, but then offers a defeated, "No, Bella."

Maybe I shouldn't believe him, but I do.

"Tell me how to get over this," I plead. Maybe it makes me appear weak and vulnerable, but there's no use in trying to pretend I'm not either of those things.

"I love you," he claims softly, maybe hoping that's all I need to hear. "I need to see you. This would be so much different if I could just _see _you."

"Would it?" I question, tears stinging my eyes, causing my vision to become blurry.

"Let me see you. I can fly there—"

"You said the distance was too hard," I interrupt, wiping my eyes.

"Because it is," he counters. "I never said I didn't want to be with you, though."

"That doesn't make sense. You ended it because you wanted to be with me?" I question and accuse.

"I wanted you to move here, but you were too scared to let yourself say yes."

"Because it was all happening too fast." I swallow, my sadness quickly turning to anger. "So, breaking up with me was supposed to get me to move there? Like an ultimatum?"

He's quiet then. Maybe I've made my point, but I still feel like shit.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes, voice cracking, realizing how this might look through my eyes. "I'm so fucking sorry."

"I am, too," I murmur.

He sounds like he's on the verge of tears, and I fight the urge to comfort him because he's the one who caused this. Instead, I hang up without saying goodbye, because I know if I hear him cry, I'll cave.

And I'm not ready yet.


	17. Voicemail

**Disclaimer: No copyright infringement.**

**I tried to write a _Then_ chapter, but my brain said no. It would only let me write a _Now_ chapter, so... blame my brain for everything.**

* * *

><p><strong>Now<strong>

Two weeks pass, and nothing.

I don't hear from Edward, but I don't try contacting him, either. I don't think about him much, but that might also be because I don't let myself drink.

When I drink, I think about him, and when I think about him, I feel pathetic. So I steer clear of alcohol, and my thoughts aren't tainted with memories.

* * *

><p>I walk into the staff room, and pull out a chair, nodding a hello to a few of the others teachers scattered around the room.<p>

Peter looks up from his book and smiles, then gets up and walks over to me.

"Hi." He sits beside me as I greet him back. "What'd you bring for lunch?" he asks, just like he does every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

I point to my sandwich, and shrug. "I wasn't feeling too adventurous today. What about you?"

"Leftovers."

I chew carefully, feeling self-conscious of the way he's staring at me while I eat. I swallow before speaking.

"Why did I even ask? You always bring leftovers," I laugh lightly. "What was it today?"

"Lasagna."

"That sounds so good," I mumble, because I feel like I have to say something.

I take another small bite of my sandwich, ignoring how Peter leans closer. I instantly regret saying anything at all, because I know what's coming.

"You should come over sometime. I'll cook for you."

I know he will. He's only asked me out a dozen times. He's attractive, and he's nice, but I don't know. He's been overly friendly to me since I've started working here. His classroom is across the hall from mine, so it's not as if I can avoid him altogether. He just tries too hard, and I don't _want _it to be hard. I want it to be easy, like it was with Edward.

_I just want Edward._

But everything went to shit, and I can't fucking let it go. He lives across the country, but I can't let _him _go.

"Bella," Peter says, vying for my attention.

I look up, and he offers me a small smile, waiting eagerly for my answer. I suddenly feel sympathetic towards him. He could make someone happy, but he doesn't make _my _heart race, and when he looks at me, I feel nothing.

"I just got out of a relationship," I lie. It's been nine months. There's nothing _just_ about it.

"It's just dinner."

And there's never anything _just _about dinner.

"I don't expect anything," he tries again. "I'm not a bad guy."

This actually does produce a laugh from me, because, "I know you aren't."

I glance around the room, thankful no one has been listening to our conversation. Or, if they have been, they aren't looking our way.

"Can we go out to the hall?" I question, grabbing my lunch and tossing it in the trashcan as I walk out the door, Peter following behind me.

I shift from foot to foot as he stares expectantly, eyes so blue and so wrong.

"What do you expect?" I suddenly ask. "You said you don't expect anything, so why do you want to go out with me?

His smile seems genuine as he tells me he just wants to get to know me; spend time with me; cook me dinner so I can bring leftovers for lunch.

My face softens because I know he's trying.

But it's just too much _trying _from the wrong person.

"I'll think about it," I finally say, hoping it will be enough.

* * *

><p>I log into my email, and type <em>Cullen<em> into the search bar, letting my cursor hover over the unblock button for a good minute before I actually click it. And then his name immediately appears in my chat box. His status tells me nothing about what he's doing or thinking, just that he's _away._

I click his name and begin typing, anyway.

_Bella: someone asked me out today._

I wait for his response. I try to clean out my inbox, but all I'm really doing is staring at the yellow clock occupying the spot next to his name, waiting for it to become a green dot, signaling he's returned.

A few minutes pass, but then it's green, and the chat box tells me that _Edward is typing..._

My eyes narrow and I impatiently bounce my knee, unsure of how he's going to react or what he's about to say.

He stops typing, then starts again. I look away from the screen, and pick at my nail polish, needing something to do other than stare at how long it's taking him to think of something to respond with.

_Edward: what do you want me to say to that, Bella?  
><em>

_Edward: seriously  
><em>

_Bella: I don't know.  
><em>

_Edward: who is it?  
><em>

_Bella: you don't know him.  
><em>

_Edward: okay_

_Edward: did you say yes?_

My teeth capture the inside of my cheek, and I don't know what to type. I don't know why I unblocked him in the first place. I don't know why I wanted him to know this. I don't know why I still think about him, and love him, and want him.

But I just do.  
><em><br>Bella: I said I'd think about it.  
><em>

_Edward: well. have a good time._

Maybe it was stupid and immature to tell him this, but I was desperate for a reaction. Some sad part of me wanted Edward to feel jealous, and I don't know if it worked or not. All I do know is that I don't feel better. If anything, I feel worse.

I feel pathetic.

_Bella: I hate this.  
><em>

I type the words, hit enter, and log off before he has a chance to respond.

* * *

><p>I almost don't bother showering before my date with Peter. But when I get home, and Kate calls to chat with me for a few minutes, she gives me a hard time. She tells me I'm not trying hard enough and that I can't get over Edward if I don't try.<p>

So I wash my hair.

And I put on a dress that's too tight and too low-cut. It's all wrong and I feel off, but I have to make an effort.

The one date I went on two months after Edward and I broke up was fucking terrible. I thought merely showing up and speaking to another man would keep Edward off my mind, but I was proved so, so wrong. I remember sitting in the diner, and hating the way the vinyl of the booth stuck to my thighs. I was a lousy date, but Seth was too nice, and even asked me out for a second date, which I declined.

Peter arrives fifteen minutes early. He tells me I look pretty and opens the car door for me. We make small talk on the way to the restaurant, some Brazilian place that he talked about all week.

"Have you been here before?" he asks, touching the small of my back as we walk inside.

"I haven't." I force out a smile, thankful when I feel his hand move away.

We're seated. Wine is brought to the table. Food is ordered.

Peter talks animatedly about work, and how he taught in Colorado for four years before moving to Washington. I smile and laugh, and the feeling isn't as forced anymore.

He grins when his foot bumps mine under the table, and I think he was lying about not expecting anything.

I think I was lying, too, though.

_This isn't enough_.

"That woman over there keeps looking in our direction," Peter informs me, discreetly staring over my shoulder. "Do you know her?"

I turn in my seat, and frown. The woman smiles hesitantly, placing her napkin on her empty plate before standing from her seat and walking over to our table. It's not until she's standing in front of me that I realize who she is.

My palms turn sweaty, and I internally cringe at the expression I'm wearing, but it's too late to pretend I'm happy to see her. I'm so caught off guard, and I suddenly can't remember the name of Edward's sister.

"Bella. Wow. This is a surprise," she says in a tone I can't quite place. Her smile is friendly enough, but her eyes keep flicking in Peter's direction.

"Definitely," I say flatly, clearing my throat.

Her smile is no longer so friendly through my eyes, and her stare is accusing, as though I should feel guilty. I purse my lips before giving her a forced smile, one that hopefully conveys that I don't feel guilty. I'm not doing anything wrong. Her brother and I are no longer together, and haven't been for awhile.

But then it dawns on me that maybe she doesn't know this. Maybe Edward never told his family we broke up, though I'm not sure why he wouldn't have.

"How are you?" I ask, staring at her face, as if her expression will give me answers to things I shouldn't want to know.

"Great. How are you?"

"Good."

She awkwardly motions toward her table. "Jasper loves this place. We haven't been here in forever."

I nod, moving my focus to Peter. "Um, Peter, this is Alice. She's my friend's sister." I slightly falter on the word _friend_, but if Peter notices, he doesn't let on. Alice, however, does notice.

I should've just said ex-boyfriend, because now I feel like I'm hiding something. Now the weight of Alice's expression doesn't feel so out of place. Now I _do _feel guilty.

"Nice to meet you, Alice," Peter says politely, standing to shake her hand.

"You too. Well, I'll let you two get back to dinner." She hesitates. "I just thought I'd come say hi."

"Yeah, that's... have a nice dinner," I offer, averting my gaze.

Our food arrives shortly after Alice sits back at her table, but the date is ruined. I can't focus. I can't smile or look at the man sitting across from me, because now I'm thinking about Edward, and Peter never stood a chance.

_I don't know why I even try._

Peter asks me if I'm okay, and the concern on his face is too much. I tell him yes and excuse myself from the table, uttering that I'll be right back.

I pass by the restrooms, hoping he can't see me as I walk out the entrance of the restaurant, pulling my phone out of my purse the minute I'm outside.

There's a light drizzle falling from the sky, and the way the rain cools my skin isn't completely unwelcome. It's calming, and now that I'm out here alone, I can breathe.

My fingers frantically type out Edward's number and I hit the call button before I can stop myself.

The phone rings and rings and rings. And then Edward's voicemail is in my ear, and there's a beep alerting me that it's time for me to speak; for me to explain why I'm calling him.

"I... don't know why I'm calling you right now," I mumble, stepping further away from the restaurant. "I'm on a date, and I just saw Alice, and... _fuck. _This isn't working. But it wasn't really working when we were together, was it?" I pause. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do, but I think we should talk. We need to talk. So, just... call me back whenever. I miss you. I miss you."

* * *

><p><strong>You guys. Thanks for patiently waiting for this to update. Sometimes my brain doesn't work. Or maybe it still isn't working. But, regardless, I updated. So... I hope it works? Okay, shutting up.<strong>

**Julie, Kim, Liv and Linae read over this and stuff.**

**Thanks for reading.**


	18. Sorry

**Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended.**

* * *

><p><strong>Now<strong>

I walk back into the restaurant, teary-eyed and feeling extremely overwhelmed.

I ask Peter to take me home, and the look on my face must be truly frightening, because he doesn't question me. He merely asks for the check, and keeps quiet until we're sitting in his car in front of my apartment.

"I'm sorry," I say quietly.

He stares out the windshield, muttering, "I thought we went out to dinner instead of going to my place to make things... easier."

"I know. I just can't do this. It's not really fair to you. I shouldn't have—"

"Don't be sorry. But you couldn't have at least finished your dinner first?"

_I'm an asshole._

"I'm joking," he says, sighing loudly. "Did he fuck you over?"

It's not like he knows who he's asking about; he's just curious. He thinks he knows. But_ I _don't even know. I don't know who fucked whom over, and I definitely can't talk about this with Peter.

Instead I thank him for dinner and apologize for the last time before exiting the car.

I try calling Edward's phone once more when I make it inside, but this time it goes straight to voicemail. His phone must be off, because there's not a single ring, just his low voice asking me to leave a message.

_He's unavailable.  
><em>

It worries me that he didn't answer his phone, and it scares me even more that he didn't try calling back. There's a possibility he's sleeping... but it's also possible he's with someone, just as I was tonight.

I've been trying so hard to push him away, and now that it might've worked, he's _unavailable _to me.

The realization causes my stomach to tighten and my eyes to blur.

I can't really sit still, and although I crave the numbness alcohol provides, I know it's not a good idea to drink. So I pace my apartment and I check my email and I call Kate, who also doesn't answer. I don't try to sleep, because even the thought is futile.

Before I realize what I'm doing, I'm sitting at the bus stop across from my apartment. It's late, but the cool air is soothing, and I take the bus to Charlie's house, which is a good twenty minutes away.

The porch light is off when I walk up to the house, and I struggle to unlock the door. The lone bulb above my head suddenly flicks on, and the door opens from the inside.

"Bell?" Charlie squints against the porch light, ushering me inside. "What are you doing here? Are you okay?"

I walk straight into the kitchen. "I was trying to sneak in. Figured we could do breakfast today, so I came... early." I move past him and open the fridge, pulling out the eggs and milk.

"Breakfast," he repeats, staring incredulously at me, rubbing at his eyes. "It's one in the morning."

"I know you work early on Sundays."

"Alright. What's bugging you, kiddo?"

"Nothing. Were you asleep?" He grumbles, pulling a beer out of the fridge. "Dad, I said _breakfast_," I scold.

"It's one in the morning," he says again. "I can have a damn beer if I want. Besides, I feel like I'm going to need it for whatever you're here about."

"I already told you why I'm here."

"Yeah, yeah. You're as bad as your mom when it comes to talking about things."

"I'm as bad as both of you, actually," I say honestly, searching the pantry for bread.

"Why are you all," he waves at my outfit, "dressed up?"

I reach into the cabinet and pull out a bowl, then crack a few eggs. "It's just a dress, and... I had a date."

Charlie whistles. "Who's the lucky guy I get to threaten?"

My eyes roll and I toss the eggshells in the trashcan. "You are _so _not intimidating."

"I'm the Chief of Police. Like hell I'm not intimidating."

"You probably fell asleep in your recliner, watching X Factor earlier." He merely rolls his eyes, and I know I'm right. "Like I said—so not intimidating."

"Alright, alright."

The rest of the time in the kitchen is spent in silence. I move around the small area, whipping up a batch of french toast. It's easy to be around Charlie, and I'm thankful that he's keeping me company right now instead of going back to bed. He's comforting, and not too pushy, even when he knows something is wrong.

It's not until we're done eating and doing the dishes that I finally let myself think about the Edward situation.

"Dad?" I ask, handing him a plate to dry off. I smile when I see his eyes drooping, but I know he won't let himself sleep until I've spilled why I'm here. "Did you like Edward?"

"Edward?" he asks, and then recognition flickers on his face and he now knows why I'm here. "He was... alright."

Charlie is a terrible liar, but that's what I need right now. I need someone to be honest with me.

"Huh." I rinse off another plate.

"I didn't like how he treated you," he says after a minute, and my chest tightens. "Disrespected you that way."

I'm not even sure what I can say to that at this point.

"I wasn't that great to him either," I finally admit. "I didn't... kiss anyone else or anything like that, but... I don't know."

"That's not your fault, Bella," he tells me, stern and fatherly. I appreciate the sentiment, but he's being biased because I'm his daughter and I just made him french toast.

_Maybe it kind of was my fault, though.  
><em>

"Did you know he wanted me to move there?" I ask, turning off the water and drying my hands. Charlie stares back, only shaking his head. "He asked me to move to New York, like... six months after we met."

I don't know why I'm telling him this now, but it makes my head feel clearer and my chest feel lighter, so I keep talking.

"I wanted to. I know you wouldn't have approved, but I wanted to."

Charlie looks nervous, and maybe I can't blame him, but he tries to keep the conversation going. "But you didn't move."

"I kind of... freaked out, especially thinking about what you and Mom went through. There was no guarantee. I just couldn't put myself out there like that only to get hurt. And then look at what happened, right? We were on a break and he kissed someone else."

He runs a hand over his mustache, looking confused. "What's this _on a break _shit?"

"I don't know. We were just going through a tough time, and put things on pause, I guess."

"That boy could've moved here, though."

"_That boy_?" I smile, but it's small. "No. I mean, later on, he could've moved here—to Seattle. But he did this internship with a company who paid for him to get his masters, so... it was kind of, I don't know. Not possible."

I release a sigh, and walk over to sit at the kitchen table, feeling the side effects of the wine from dinner earlier, and the syrup I just consumed, taking over.

"So why's this still bugging you?" he asks, straight forward and to the point.

"I still have feelings for him," I admit quietly, staring down at my hands. "But it's just... a mess."

"You love him," Charlie guesses, and the look on my face must tell him _everything_. He kind of drops his head, grabs another beer from the fridge, and sits down next to me. "Listen. You can't base your life off of what happened to me and your mom, kiddo."

"Why not?"

"Because."

"I need a better answer than that."

"You're going to have to figure that out on your own," he says gruffly. "Bella, I wish I had the answers. Trust me. I do. But there are things you have to figure out for yourself, and if you loved that boy—"

"Even if he screwed up?" I question timidly. "I just forgive him and move on?"

"If you love him?" I nod, and Charlie gives me a simple _yes._

"But that's... too hard. How would I trust him again?"

"It takes work, but if you try—"

"We tried," I insist, and Charlie just laughs. It makes me feel silly and immature, though I know that's not his intention.

His head shakes and he gulps his beer before saying, "Bell, you and Edward didn't try."

"We did the long distance thing for almost year and a half," I remind him. "Do you know how hard that is?" He grunts, wiping his mustache. "_I_ had to be the one to move. There was no other option. And having that pressure on me was scary. But we talked, and we fought... _a lot_. We tried, Dad. We—"

"Are still incredibly young and don't know what it means to try," he interrupts.

I fight back tears. "Really? You and mom got divorced. You want to lecture me on trying to make a relationship work?"

"We were married for twenty-nine years, Bell. We worked at it every day, and it was hard, but we didn't give up after the first fight."

"Okay. I get it," I mutter, looking away because hearing my dad speak about this is making me overly emotional, and I can't imagine breaking down in front of him.

He keeps talking, though. "We raised you, and didn't agree on everything, especially when you were being a brat. Kind of like you're being right now. But we loved each other, even when things were bad. Sometimes it just doesn't work out, but we tried. We compromised. Give and take and all that shit."

I smile through my tears. "Give and take and all that shit," I echo. "Sound advice."

"You don't give me enough credit," he laughs.

"You give yourself enough credit," I tease, wiping at the corners of my eyes. "You don't need me to boost your ego."

"All I'm saying is, if it's been however long and you're still thinking about him, you owe it to yourself to try. And I sure as hell can guarantee that he'd want another shot with you. He'd be crazy not to."

"You just want someone around to threaten," I joke, standing from the table, exhaustion taking over. "You're not so bad at this parenting thing," I tell him through a yawn.

"I've had twenty-six years of experience. I'm an old pro."

"Definitely old."

We laugh, and I pause just before heading up the stairs. "Thanks for the talk, Dad."

"Come here, kid." Charlie reaches out for me, and I wrap my arms around his waist as he pulls me into a warm hug. He kisses the top of my head, which only makes me want to cry more.

"I just want you to be happy," he tells me once we pull away. "That's all this old man wants. And you're not happy."

There's no use denying it. I showed up to my father's house at one in the morning. I can't exactly lie myself out of this one.

"No. I'm not."

"Then talk to Edward. I'd be willing to bet he's in the same boat as you."

I don't want Edward to be in the same boat as me. I don't want him to be unhappy and unable to move on... but I want him to still love me. It's screwed up, and confusing, but I'm an idiot to believe that this was ever going to be easy.

Charlie and I say goodnight, and I crawl into the twin bed that's still in my old room. I lie there, and though it's three in the morning and I'm exhausted, I try fighting off sleep in case Edward calls. But forty-five minutes pass, and still nothing.

I grab my phone, open my email, and begin composing a new message, wondering if this will even make a difference. And if it doesn't... at least I'm trying.

_I don't know if we can make this work, but I want to try. I want to _really_ try. There are so many things I'd change, and so many things I regret now. I don't know if you even want to work through everything, but I think we both need closure, and the only way to achieve that is to talk. So... please call me when you're ready. I still love you, Edward. I don't think I ever stopped, and I know this is all so fucked up. I'm sorry for pushing you away. I'm sorry for making you choose between me and your job. I'm sorry for not trusting you. I'm sorry._

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading. Um, there's like... one more chapter after this. I think.<strong>

**Kim, Julie, and Liv were nice enough to read over this for me.**


	19. Bus

**Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended.**

* * *

><p><strong>Now<strong>

I'm between the stage of being fully awake and allowing myself to fall back asleep when I hear the engine of a car outside. My eyes blink open a few times before I glance around the room and gain my bearings. I'm momentarily confused as to why I'm at my dad's, and then I remember.

Dinner with Peter and seeing Alice and talking to Charlie and _Edward, Edward, Edward_.

My stomach is in knots as I grab my phone, blearily staring at the screen.

No missed calls. No texts. No emails.

_Nothing.  
><em>

I lie there for a moment. Embarrassment floods over me. I don't fight the tears that well up in my eyes. I shouldn't feel stupid, but I do. I shouldn't have expected Edward to have already tried to contact me, but I did. I shouldn't still want him, but I guess I never really stopped.

It's tempting to stay at my dad's all day and wallow. I entertain the idea for a minute, until I imagine Charlie coming home later tonight and finding me still curled in bed feeling sorry for myself. I don't want him to think his advice last night didn't help, because it did.

I'm not sure it really matters now, though, because it might be too late. Especially if Edward doesn't want to speak to me.

I toss the blanket away and stand up, trying to force all thoughts of Edward from my mind. The cool wood floor is cruel against my feet and forces me to feel more awake than I am. My dress has bunched up around my waist while I slept, and I grumble as I adjust it. I make the bed and pull on my boots before heading down the stairs.

The quiet and empty house does nothing to ease the loneliness that is filling my chest. I dig through the junk drawer in the kitchen and pull out a pad and pen, scrawling a simple_ thanks, dad _across the empty paper.

Grabbing my bag and coat off the hook by the front door, I lock up and walk briskly through the drizzle toward the bus stop.

Fifteen minutes later, when I'm swiping my card and making my way down the aisle of the bus, my phone begins ringing. My hand fumbles around in my bag as I take my seat.

Edward's number flashes on my screen, and my stomach drops. The thumping in my chest is out of control as I hit the accept button, and before I have a chance to answer, speak, _breath_... I hear his voice.

"Bella?"

With the phone pressed firmly against my ear, I go to speak, but so much relief washes over me to the point where I can't form words. It's ridiculous how much comfort I instantly feel just from Edward merely returning my call.

I swallow the lump forming in my throat, before quietly saying, "Hey, I'm here."

"I got your voicemail," he tells me, just as softly. And then, "I miss you, too."

"I'm so glad you called," is all I manage to get out.

"Me too, Bella," he mumbles. "I'm glad you called, I mean."

"I tried calling sometime after I left you that voicemail, but your phone was off." He doesn't offer me a reason as to why his phone was off. It's none of my business. I know it's not. "I'm sorry if I was... interrupting you."

He exhales. "You weren't interrupting anything. I'm sorry I didn't answer."

"It's okay," I tell him. It's the truth. It _is_ okay.

The bus stops, and a mother and her child get on. The kid is mid-tantrum, stomping and screaming, as they walk past me and toward the back of the bus.

"What are you doing?" Edward suddenly asks.

"I'm on the bus, on my way home," I say, just a bit louder so he can hear me.

"Oh."

His sudden pause makes me frown, and I realize it's still pretty early on a Sunday morning for me to be out. This can't look good. He said he'd got my voicemail, so he knew I was on a date last night. It's a natural assumption to think that might have gone home with my date.

"I just... I was at my dad's." He didn't ask, but he didn't have to. I offer him the explanation, anyway. "I went over late last night."

"Is everything okay?" he eventually asks.

"No. Everything isn't okay," I say honestly. "I kind of freaked out, and didn't want to be alone. I know that sounds stupid. I don't know."

"It doesn't sound stupid," he reassures me. "What were you freaking out over?"

"Us," I quickly admit, before the boldness of being separated by thousands of miles disappears.

The line is quiet, until, "You know that photo of us from Kate's wedding?" His words and sudden subject change catches me off guard. Before I can work out why he's asking me this, he speaks. "The one where we're sitting at the table, looking at each other and laughing," he explains. I know which photo he's talking about.

"The photo I framed for you," I add.

His laugh is soft, easing some of the tension. "I kept it. I never moved it from my bookshelf. Is that weird?"

I look down at my lap and smile to myself as I think of that night, and the handful of nights we were lucky enough to spend together before I had to fly back home. I think of how quickly we fell for one another, and how fast things we let things fall apart. I think of his secret smile, the one that seemed to only be for me. I think of the way he groaned my name, and breathed against my neck, and made me _feel_.

I think of him, just like I always do. But there isn't anger or regret fueling these thoughts now. They're just memories. They just exist. Maybe I still need to forgive him, and maybe I still need to forgive myself. But right now, all I need is to know that he still wants to try; all I need to know is that he still loves me.

"It's not weird, Edward. None of this was ever weird. That's the problem. It was too easy."

"But it wasn't, Bella. We wouldn't be in this situation right now if it was easy."

I breathe out a humorless laugh. "When we were actually together, in the same city, it was easy. Don't try to say that it wasn't."

"Loving you was easy," he admits, and he doesn't have to. His words give me hope that I'm not sure either of us deserve at this point.

My eyes close and my leg bounces. "Fuck, I don't want to do this over the phone. I can't."

"Bella." He sighs, and my stomach tightens.

The child who was throwing a tantrum begins screaming again, and I miss most of what Edward says next.

"I didn't hear what you said."

"You have no idea how much I need to see you." His admittance untangles the knots in my stomach.

The child screams louder, gaining the attention of everyone on the bus, effectively pulling my thoughts away from my conversation with Edward.

"I'm sorry. This is... can I call you back when I get to my place?" I ask, holding back from throwing the mother a dirty look as she sits there and does nothing for the child who's demanding her attention. "It'll be just a few minutes."

"Sure, okay," he tells me, and we say goodbye before hanging up.

As I exit the bus, I swipe away at the tears that have gathered in the corner of my eyes. I walk as fast as I can to my building, and buzz myself in. I press the button for the elevator and call Edward back, but the line rings three times before I get his voicemail. I hang up, wondering if the reception is lacking, and try not to feel too disappointed as I step into the elevator.

I inhale deeply and exhale slowly on the ride up to my floor. And then I'm stepping through the doors once they open, digging through my purse for my keys as I walk towards my apartment. I pull them out of my bag and look up, immediately coming to a halt when I see who is standing in front of my door.

_Edward_.

* * *

><p><strong>Some of you already guessed Edward was on a plane, heading to Seattle, and you were right. You go, Glenn Coco.<strong>

**I've decided that you guys win the award for most patient readers. Thanks for sticking with me through this story! Had to split this chapter because things. Next update will be Saturday.  
><strong>

**Kim read over this about two months ago, and Vic read it tonight. They're the best.**

**Oh! It's Kim's (VampiresHaveLaws) birthday today! Make sure to wish her a Happy Birthday! :)**


	20. The Last One

**Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended.**

* * *

><p><strong>Now<strong>

I stand there for a good thirty seconds, just staring at Edward. I want to speak, but I'm still having trouble wrapping my head around this. The only thing I seem to be able to think is: _he's here, he's here._

"You're here," I blurt out. "In Seattle. You're here in Seattle."

The smile he offers doesn't reach his eyes. "I am."

And then I'm staring again because I don't trust myself to speak.

His hair is longer. He looks thinner. His once bright eyes are dulled by the circles under them. There's stubble covering his jaw, chin, and cheeks. More stubble than I've seen him wear before. He looks tired and worn out, yet still so good.

"Bella. Say something," he begs, fisting his hair. "Are you mad I'm here, or—"

"Of course I'm not mad," I tell him in disbelief. "I just don't understand. What are you doing here?"

"I was in the neighborhood..." He trails off when I don't react. "What do you think I'm doing here, Bella?" he asks quietly.

I don't want to answer that question, and maybe he doesn't expect me to, because I _know_. I know he's here for me, but that doesn't stop me from asking, "How?" I think back to last night, remembering his phone going straight to voicemail. "I mean, did you talk to Alice?"

He shakes his head. "No. I didn't talk to Alice. I listened to your voicemail, saying you saw her while you were on your date, but I was already at the airport at that point."

"Oh."

He was already at the airport. Before I pathetically called him outside the restaurant. My eyes burn at this realization.

"I needed to talk to you, and it's a little difficult to make that happen when you keep blocking me on Gchat. But I mostly just needed to see you," he admits, voice earnest. His words make my heart pound so loud, I swear he can hear it.

Without another word, I'm stumbling toward him, arms wrapping around his neck. Our bodies are pressed against one another, and all I can feel is _warm_ and _safe_ and _Edward_. He leans down a little, chin resting over my shoulder as he grips my waist, pulling me closer.

Now that he's here, holding me, I can't imagine how I ever stayed away from him for so long. He releases a sigh into my hair, and maybe he's thinking the same thing. I try to hold back my tears, but I can't. I'm completely overwhelmed. I want to tell him so many things, but I won't. Not yet.

"Edward," I start to say, my voice catching.

"Please don't cry," he whispers, holding me tighter.

I take a deep breath, and we pull apart after I've calmed down a bit. I stare up at him, and the way he stares back nearly kills me. It's like his eyes are trying to tell me something, like I'm the only one he'll ever want. And I should've known that, but the distance made it too easy to convince myself otherwise.

"Don't look at me like that," I manage to say through my tears.

He tilts my chin upward, and his smile is gentle as he says, "Why not?"

I shake my head, looking down. The sound of a door shutting catches my attention, and I realize we're still standing in the hallway of my building.

"I swear I'm not usually this big of an emotional wreck," I mumble, feeling embarrassed. "I just wasn't expecting you to be here."

He smiles, his thumbs brushing my tears away. "Can we go inside?"

I nod, my hands shaking as I unlock the door. I walk in, watching as he leans over and grabs the duffel bag that I hadn't noticed until now.

"I can stay in a hotel," he offers after I shut the door behind us. "I wasn't assuming you'd let me stay here, if that's what you're thinking."

"I want you to stay here," I insist. Now that he's here, I can't imagine him leaving.

He nods, looking relieved. "Where should I put this?" he asks, lifting the duffel.

"Doesn't matter." I strip out of my coat as I move past him into the living room. When I turn around, his eyes are on my dress. "I'm going to go change," I mumble, awkwardly motioning toward my room.

I feel less overwhelmed once my face is clean of makeup and tear stains. I change into leggings, a t-shirt, and a zip-up hoodie, one that used to be Edward's. One that I never stopped wearing, even when everything went to shit.

When I walk back into the living room, I find him sitting on the couch, knee bouncing as he stares straight ahead.

"Um... are you thirsty?" I ask.

His knee stops bouncing, and he shakes his head. His eyes roam over my attire, and I suddenly feel very self-conscious under his scrutiny.

"Nice hoodie," he comments, chuckling lightly.

I nervously tie my hair back. "Hungry?"

"Come here."

I cross the living room and before I can over think where I should sit, he pulls me into his lap. My arms instantly wrap around his neck. I breathe him in. I've missed his smell. I've missed the way he feels.

He buries his face against my chest, releasing a quiet groan. His hand snakes across my waist, slipping under the hoodie before resting on my hip. The warmth of his skin on mine calms me. I don't know how long we sit like this, not talking and just holding one another. I don't care. I could sit here with him forever.

"We need to talk," he murmurs to the hoodie. He rubs my hip and lifts his head.

"I know," I reluctantly agree, fingers playing with the back of his hair.

We stare at one another. I'm not sure what to say, or how to even start this conversation. A minute or two pass, and I'm thankful when he speaks first.

"I'm so sorry, Bella," he apologizes, so quietly and so sincere. His palm cups the side of my neck, and his thumb brushes my cheek. "I'm sorry. For everything. You know that, don't you?"

I nod, willing myself not to cry as I wrap my fingers around his wrist. "I'm sorry, too."

His face softens. "Bella, please. You don't have to apologize. I was too pushy. I wanted you with me so fucking bad, and I thought if we put things on pause that it'd make you... _fuck_. I thought it'd make you move to New York."

Our eyes stay locked, and I wait for him to speak again.

"I shouldn't have done that to you. I should've been patient. I never wanted to be without you, though. That wasn't what I ever wanted."

His forehead presses against mine, and I believe him. I do. It was easy for things to unravel so quickly when we were so far apart.

"I know," I whisper. "I was so angry, and it's like... me not moving was my way of punishing you. Which is awful. And then I blamed you for things that were out of your control. I blamed you for choosing your job over me and not moving here, which was really shitty of me to do. It was like... I don't know."

"I don't know either," he echoes.

"It made sense at the time, but now, none of it makes sense." I swallow the lump in my throat. "And the easiest thing to do was to push you away. I was pissed you didn't try harder, and I was pissed you didn't move here."

"I couldn't, Bella. You know I would've moved here if I had the opportunity."

"I know, I know. And that makes me feel even more shitty because I could have moved, and I didn't, out of spite. And I know we weren't technically together, but then you kissed that girl, and it fucking hurt. I didn't want to think about you with anyone else."

"Bella."

"It's like I was just waiting for something to happen, waiting for something to go wrong. I fucked it all up."

"No, you didn't. We both handled this the wrong way," he murmurs.

I shrug. "It just never made sense, you wanting to be with me."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. I have no reason to think that, but I still thought it. I was always so fucking insecure about us, and the distance just made things worse."

"I only ever wanted you, though," he whispers, so close to my mouth.

His confession makes my throat burn as I try to keep myself from crying. "God dammit," I mutter, looking up at the ceiling.

With lips moving against my neck, he says, "I've missed you, Bella. So fucking much."

My eyes close. His mouth moves from my neck, to my cheek, to my forehead.

"I missed you, too," I breathe out.

He carefully presses a small kiss to the corner of my mouth. I turn my head, capturing his lips with mine, because I need him to kiss me. Our mouths meet, moving together slowly. I grip the back of his neck, and he tightens his hold on my hips, keeping me in place. As if I'd ever leave.

"Bella," he says to my lips.

"How are we going to make this work?" I ask, pulling back to look at his face. "Because I want to be with you. I want to try this again."

He presses another kiss to my lips, but doesn't say anything. He's trying not to push, but maybe I need him to.

"We'll make it work," he finally says, and he sounds so sure.

"I'll move to New York." It's weird hearing it out loud, and even weirder catching his expression. Like he wants so badly to believe me.

"That's something you really want to do?" His brows pull together as he searches my face.

I kiss _him _this time. "Yes. It's something I really want to do."

"I don't want you to feel like you _have _to."

"I don't," I insist. "But I want to be with you, and long distance won't work. I can't do that again. I want to actually _try_ this time."

The way he smiles makes me feel like I'm the best person in the world. He pulls me so close and hugs me so tight, I can hardly breathe. He kisses me and kisses me, and maybe I don't need to breathe again. The kiss deepens, and I can feel his fingers unzipping my jacket. I let him take it off, and I let him pull my shirt over my head because I need this just as much as he does.

I adjust myself on his lap, straddling him. His hands are on my bare chest, and then his mouth. I moan. His tongue and teeth and stubble are warm and wet and rough around my nipple.

"Make that sound again," he mumbles, and I can feel him growing hard beneath me.

"Then do that again." His teeth nip at my chest, eliciting another moan from me.

"I missed that sound," he rasps, gaze darkening. "I missed fucking you."

"Then fuck me," I say, voice trembling.

He lifts my hips and guides me to sit beside him before standing up. Unbuttoning his jeans, they puddle at his feet and he steps out of them.

"These, too." I tug at his boxer briefs, and he yanks them down after pulling his shirt off.

And then he's naked and standing in front of me. I take him into my mouth. He looks surprised, but he moans and his hand is on the back of my head. I add my hand as my mouth moves back and forth, and he moans again, louder this time.

He pulls back. "Okay, fuck. I need_ you_," he grits out. "Stand up," he instructs, tugging down my leggings. I reach down when they're at my ankles, pulling them off. He takes my hand, leading me to the bedroom.

He sits on the edge of the bed, pulling me to stand between his knees. His eyes stay on my face as his hand moves between my legs, parting my thighs. My chest heaves and I can't keep myself from moaning when his fingers are inside of me.

"I want you to feel good."

"I do," I breathe. "You always make me feel good."

I'm on the verge of coming when his hand stops moving and he pulls me to straddle him.

His mouth covers mine and I kiss him back. It's rough and needy and we were always so good like this. He makes me feel wanted and I love him. I was so stupid for ever thinking I wasn't so in love with him.

He says my name over and over again as I rub myself on him. He's good at being patient this way, and I'm so ready. I lift myself up and grip his dick, sliding down onto him.

I don't move yet, and he just stares at me. So serious. Like he wants to say so many things. It makes my chest hurt because no one has ever, or will ever, look at me like that. But I don't want just anyone to. I only want him.

"I need you," he tells me, fingers lightly grazing along my back.

I move then. Up and down. I lean forward and grip his neck for leverage. His face is against my throat, and he's breathing hard, whispering things to my skin. He says that he loves me, and that he never stopped thinking about me; about _this_. My name comes out as a breath on his lips, and it's all too much.

I bite down on his shoulder to keep from crying out. "Fuck, I missed this. I missed this," I pant.

"Fuck me," he grits out. His hands are on my hips, moving me lazily against him, too slow. "Love me."

"I do. I do love you," I confess. "Too much."

He groans, and I move faster. His hands are on me, helping push me closer to the edge. And this time, I'm the one saying his name over and over again.

"Look at me," he says. "Bella, look at me."

I try to slow my breathing, but I can't. I look at him, and he kisses me. His mouth doesn't leave mine then, and I cling to him. We're so close, so close. It's never been like this with anyone else, and I have to keep myself from crying because _it's never been like this with anyone else_.

I come, and only then does he pull his lips from mine so he can hear me. I cry out and I collapse against him.

"You're so beautiful," he confesses. I kiss his chest, because he's the beautiful one here.

He pulls my head back so he can stare at me. And then I'm moving again, for him; needing him to feel as good as I did. He moans, grabbing my breast as we move together. But then he slows my hips and he lifts me off of him, laying me down against the pillows.

He kisses his way up my body then slowly pushes into me. I wrap my legs around his waist, needing him deeper.

He's losing his breath and staring down at me as his pace quickens.

"We have to make it work this time," he says, burying his face in the crook of my neck.

"I know," I whisper, clinging to him. "I know. I love you."

His head drops against my shoulder, and he's grunts and groans and _I want you to be with me, Bella _just before he comes.

We lie there afterward, spending our time kissing and touching and laughing and talking. I just missed being together like this, and when I tell him so, he kisses my temple.

When he moves between my legs again, it's slower this time. I want this feeling forever, and I'm not sure how I ever thought I could live without it.

Later on, when the light has faded from the sky and we're in bed again, he pulls me against his side.

"You really want to move to New York?"

"Even more so now," I say as honest as I can. "We'll have to figure it all out, and I'll have to put in my two weeks at work. But yeah."

"I have to fly back on Tuesday for work," he tells me. I frown at this, realizing he's leaving again in two days. He kisses me, then says, "But I'll be back. And I can help you move."

I push the hair away from his forehead, searching for his eyes in the dark. "Yeah?"

He grins. "Yeah. And then we can fly to New York together, just like the first time we met."

We both laugh at this before growing quiet as nostalgia takes over.

"Thanks for letting me steal your seat that day," I say just before drifting off to sleep.

He moves closer, mouth moving against my neck as he asks, "Would it be cheesy if I said thanks for letting me steal your heart?"

"Yes. That would be extremely cheesy."

"Okay, then. I won't say it," he says through a yawn. "Do you still make it a habit of stealing people's seats on planes, though?"

"Shut up," I laugh.

"I'm being serious," he mumbles sleepily, pressing a kiss to my throat.

"No," I tell him. "You were the last one."

It's the truth, in more ways than one.

"Good," he whispers, pulling me closer. "Let's keep it that way."

* * *

><p><strong>The companion song to this chapter is <em>On The Wings Of Love<em> by Jeffrey Osbourne. In case anyone was wondering. ****Okay, I'm lying. BUT I WASN'T LYING WHEN I SAID I WAS GOING TO UPDATE ON SATURDAY. I might be more shocked than y'all, to be honest.**

**Anyway. This story is done. Finito. I'm about to go hit that 'complete' button after I upload this. Yay!**

**Thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, rec'd, and just... said nice things about this story. I really, really, REALLY appreciate it. I love y'all.**

**Love and awkward hugs to Kim and Vic, who looked over this with me, listened to me whine, and told me not to scrap this chapter. Thanks for talking me off the ledge countless times.**


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